


And They Were Zoommates

by imbekkable



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Background Sasha James/Tim Stoker, COVID-19, Canon Asexual Character, Crack Treated Seriously, Drinking Games, Elias Bouchard is mentioned, I want to see Tim with everyone ok I can't stop myself (it's really only minor stuff tho), Jon can have a little Admiral as a treat, M/M, Minor Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Minor Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker, Mutual Pining, Oh my god they were zoommates, Quarantine, Slow Burn, Zoom Meetings, alcohol use, it's time to get good at darts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 58,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23842450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imbekkable/pseuds/imbekkable
Summary: Martin felt nervous. It really was his luck to be starting his new job in the middle of a worldwide pandemic. He was very familiar with the institute, he had been working there for six years but still, becoming an archival assistant under Jonathan Sims was reason enough to be nervous on any given day. He had never officially been introduced to him, but had definitely noticed him, nonetheless. There was something about him that attracted Martin, and the thought of working with him had driven any thoughts about the current situation in his country out of his mind. Although he would have preferred to meet him under other circumstances and not through zoom.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 598
Kudos: 669





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is based on [this tumblr post](https://ao3commentoftheday.tumblr.com/post/613720513585496064/how-dare-you-hide-this-in-the-tags).
> 
> Huge shoutout to my dear friend [annbun](http://annbun.tumblr.com/), who was the first to read this mess and will remain to be my victim until it's done (if she wants to) - without you this would not exist.  
> And a GIGANTIC shoutout to [Stacicity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stacicity)/[ajcrawly](https://ajcrawly.tumblr.com) who is simply incredible and offered to beta this chapter!! I still can't thank you enough. Please check out her work!
> 
> Enjoy!

Martin felt nervous. It really was his luck to be starting his new job in the middle of a worldwide pandemic. He was very familiar with the institute, he had been working there for six years but still, becoming an archival assistant under Jonathan Sims was reason enough to be nervous on any given day. He had never officially been introduced to him, but had definitely noticed him, nonetheless. There was something about him that attracted Martin, and the thought of working with him had driven any thoughts about the current situation in his country out of his mind. Although he would have preferred to meet him under other circumstances and not through zoom.

Martin was awfully aware of his hair being just a bit too long but trying to cut it on his own would make things worse, he was sure of that. He had been standing in front of his mirror, trying to flatten out the wrinkles in his shirt and looking at himself with dissatisfaction for a while now but he finally surrendered. Maybe it was ridiculous to be nervous about an online meeting. He could pretend that his webcam was broken, his microphone not working, or that his laptop was too old and didn’t even have the needed technical properties. Or that he didn’t like the possibility of being watched by the government. People used that argument, right?

He sighed and looked at his phone screen. Fifteen more minutes.

He left his bedroom and went to his workspace that he’d prepared earlier. He didn’t want the others to think he was messy, so he had moved his table in front of his bookshelf and hoped it would look professional enough. Elias had given him all the information for the meeting, even though he wouldn’t be part of it himself. The other two archival assistants would join them as well, but Martin had talked to both of them before and wasn’t worrying too much about them. Sitting down, he felt excitement shoot through him as he opened his laptop and started the application.

It was easy enough, and before he could stop himself, he clicked the participate button. Tim and Sasha were already there, chatting along happily, and greeted Martin as soon as they realized he joined them. They made polite small talk and it was ten minutes after their scheduled meeting time that Jonathan Sims finally managed to join them. Martin tried not to look too thrilled about it, but he did let himself stare at the man on his screen shamelessly. Jonathan looked professional, his hair was well-kempt, the grey strands barely visible through Martin’s laptop screen. He was even wearing a tie, something both he and Tim had decided against. He couldn't make out a lot of Jonathan’s living space, as he seemed to be sitting with his back to a wall, but at least he contrasted nicely against it. He heard Jonathan clear his throat, silencing his thoughts and the others effectively.

“Thank you for joining me for this online meeting,” he said, voice deep and wonderful in Martin’s headphones. “I know this is not ideal, but I guess it is the best option we have. I’d like you to make the best out of this situation and I hope that I can count on you to do your research at home. Elias gave me a lot of statements to read through before… this all happened so you will have your work cut out for you for the next couple of weeks at least. I know he’s already been over this with you… I will try to send you the ones I am currently working on. I’m still trying to get my scanner to work.” Those last words were quiet, barely more than a mumble. “So, what I want you to do is to follow up on everything and I will try to work out a sorting system at home. I have looked at some of them already, and, well, I doubt there is much we will be able to find but we will see how it goes.”

As he was speaking, his eyes seemed to be focused on something on his desk, rather than his laptop. He stopped then and looked at them all properly for the first time. Martin tried his best to appear stern and alert. He hadn’t had a chance to introduce himself yet, and he was not sure if he was even supposed to. Jonathan knew the others better than him, so he had been mentally preparing to tell them a bit about himself, but he also felt like he had missed his chance by now.

“Right. So that’s all I personally have to say to you now, really,” Jonathan continued, seemingly ready to end the meeting as soon as possible as he grabbed a piece of paper.

“Boss, you haven’t even introduced yourself yet.” Tim’s smile was broad as he spoke, and Martin appreciated his words, as it felt like he said them for him. “Also, a _how are you_ would be nice.”

“And I do not see a point in doing that. You all know who I am,” he said, ignoring the second part of Tim’s statement.

“Martin has never met you, how would he know who you are?” Sasha protested.

“Mister Blackwood is hopefully smart enough to figure that out by himself.”

Martin felt his face grow hot. His new department head acted like he wasn’t even part of their group conversation. He had an awful urge to prove himself but couldn’t figure out how. Instead he said, “Please, Martin is fine,” and laughed awkwardly.

“Right. So that’s it for now. I’ll send you the necessary files when I get to it. I don’t care when you do your work, as long as you do it. I will schedule another meeting in a few days, just to see if… this even works.” Jonathan sighed, but then sat up straighter, grabbing the paper in front of him. “I still have to read this to you so... _The Magnus Institute would like to inform you that we are continuing our efforts to keep everyone safe, and to remind our employees that we are all in this together. Please be reassured that we are doing everything we can to minimise the disruption to the way we work. If you have questions or need further instructions, please contact your head of department_ ,” Jonathan made a face as if that was not what he had in mind at all, “ _Wash your hands regularly, only go out for essential shopping or medicines and to exercise once a day. Stop all non-essential contact with others. Do not be part of public gatherings of more than two people_.” He stopped reading and sighed once more. “I think that’s enough for today.”

Sasha, Tim and Martin had been mostly quiet. Martin had watched as Tim started spinning around in his chair as Jonathan was talking, and Sasha seemed to be talking to a dog. Martin felt envious of her as she did so, wishing for nothing more than to have an apartment that allowed pets in this time of social distancing. Jonathan Sims cleared his throat again, redirecting their attention to him.

“Thank you for your time. I will talk to you soon. Goodbye.”

And without really waiting for a response, he left the meeting, closing the window for the others as well. Martin felt dumbstruck. It had not been the experience that he had been expecting. He hadn’t even got to ask any of the questions that he had been preparing.

“What a dick,” he muttered under his breath, getting up to make himself some tea.

\---

Martin really wished he hadn’t daydreamed about a goddamn stranger and projected all his feelings onto a man he only saw maybe twice a week if he was lucky. It was a bad habit, really. He had done it back in sixth form before he dropped out of school, as it had always been easier to imagine being with - or rather obsess over - someone who was just so out of reach that they couldn’t hurt you in any way.

But now Jonathan Sims was his boss. Now his bubble of that hot, kind-of-edgy, always tired-looking man that seemed like he might need a hug was about to burst. He tried to shrug it off. At some point Jonathan had to talk to him directly and recognize him as a human being, and maybe if they actually talked, he could let this little crush die down. Because he didn’t really see Jonathan showing any interest in him whatsoever. He sighed from his place on his couch where he was lying, a book on his chest, his hands covering his eyes. Just as he was trying to focus on his book again, wondering if he was overreacting, his phone vibrated, so he happily looked at that instead. It was a text from Tim: “Sorry Jon’s was such a twat earlier. He’s not good with new people… or people in general. But he’s not so bad most of the time. Give it some time, he’ll get better.”

Martin chuckled, wondering if he had been too obvious already.

“I’m looking forward to that.”, is what he typed, but then erased. Instead he wrote back: “Cheers! Not your fault. I’ll be fine :) “

He dropped his phone and lifted his book once more, determined to read at least one while he was actually supposed to stay home. His phone vibrated once more, but this time it was an email from none other than Jonathan Sims.

> _Scanner not working. I typed the statement down instead. File attached. Please try to contact Mr. Watts and conduct more research._
> 
> _-JS_

He sat up reluctantly and grabbed his laptop from where he had left it on his table, opening the group chat he had started with Tim and Sasha on his phone with his other hand. Sasha was already typing, and soon he got the message: _Jon wants us to do some work. Zoom in 5?_

Martin sent an affirmative thumbs-up-emoji and opened his laptop. At least Tim and Sasha weren’t so bad - they were quite kind to him actually. And he finally got to take his mind off things by doing some actual work. At least that’s what he hoped for.

\---

It had been four days since their last online meeting with Jonathan Sims. They had another one scheduled for today at four pm and Martin was going over his notes once more, since it was only half an hour until then. He really hadn’t had any luck with this case but knew that Sasha had been more successful. On the one hand, he was dreading the thought of what Jonathan would say about his lack of research, but he was really looking forward to seeing him again. He clenched his fists, trying to find a way to get rid of these thoughts. He deemed himself unsuccessful half an hour later, still lost in thoughts about what shirt Jon would wear today, as he opened his laptop. Whilst he ran a hand through his hair and tugged on his shirtsleeves, he got ready for the meeting. This time, Jon’s face appeared in front of him immediately, and since the others were not there yet, it filled the whole screen. His shirt was red.

“Hi!” Martin said a little breathlessly, surprised to find himself alone with Jonathan in this virtual room.

“Oh. Hello, Martin,” Jonathan replied, voice level and uninterested. Still, Martin felt a strange sensation shoot up his spine as he heard his own name being spoken.

“Um, so… how are you feeling?” he tried tentatively, not sure if it was a good idea to aim for small talk. The other man sighed.

“I’m alright. Let’s wait for the others.”

“Right! Right,” Martin replied, sitting back and straightening his collar. Jonathan was drinking from a mug, looking - apparently deliberately - elsewhere, not at the screen. Not at Martin. Martin tried to copy his behaviour and looked at his living room instead, hoping that Tim and Sasha would tune in soon. He really ought to tidy up in the near future, mugs and clothes were starting to occupy most of his space. Martin stifled a yawn and stole a glance back at Jonathan, who looked tired and grouchy, but not any less professional than last time. Martin was glad he decided to wear another one of his dress shirts instead of something more comfortable.

Sasha’s face finally appeared on the screen, and she looked more casual than Martin had seen her last, wearing a nice big sweater and letting her hair fall down on her shoulders freely. She smiled and greeted them both, before Tim’s face appeared as well. Tim on the other hand was wearing what appeared to be a grey tank top and a pair of sunglasses, as he seemed to be sitting on his balcony. It was a warm day, after all, and it looked like Tim couldn’t be bothered about looking professional at all. It made Martin smile a little bit, imagining himself to have enough confidence to pull off that look. Tim was waving at them through the screen, and Martin allowed himself to wave back.

“Good afternoon. Thank you for joining me again,” sounded Jonathan’s voice through his headphones. “I have sent you a few more statements I was able to record to my laptop, as typing them down is tedious work, but there is a pile that just won’t record on anything else than a tape recorder. I’ve tried everything now -”

“Hmm... Spooky stuff,” Tim interrupted and nodded in understanding. Jonathan looked as if he had personally insulted him but didn’t respond to his words.

“-so, I will continue sending you those by typing them down. Now, tell me about the supplementary investigations you’ve conducted in the last days.”

Martin gave the others precedence and sipped on his fresh tea while they talked. Maybe Jonathan would ignore him again and not even ask about his research. Maybe it was fine that he didn’t get anywhere by calling people that might have been connected to that statement. Considering how he had treated him last time, he probably wouldn’t even ask.

“Martin. What were you able to figure out?”

Fuck.

“Um, well, I tried to find a way to contact Mr. Watts directly, or someone related to him. I also tried to get in touch with the University of Edinburgh, but I think they’re a bit understaffed right now? You know, in light of current events… Anyway, I couldn’t get through to them and they have not responded to my email. Also, I did look through a few websites listing phone numbers of someone called Nathan Watts, but most of them have been disconnected, and I’m not sure if it’s a name that’s very uncommon,” he gave a nervous little laugh, “So… nothing I’ve tried lead to anything, really...”

Jonathan did not respond immediately. Martin was probably imagining it, but it seemed like the other had expected a similar outcome from Martin’s research. He did not look particularly surprised at least.

“Right,” Martin heard him sigh through his headphones, it seemed like he was considering what to say next. “Try to be more thorough next time, Martin.”

“Oh, oh- I-, I will!” and he meant it. He wouldn’t let this job, or his boss, kick his ass like that. “Thank you, Jonathan,” he added, even though he really didn’t know why. There was no reason to thank him, but he still felt like he had to. Jonathan was his boss, after all.

“Right,” Jonathan said again, and seemed to weigh his words once more. “Well, that is all I have to say to you at this point.”

“Hold on, boss,” Tim intervened. “I won’t let you do that again. Now, first of all, I want you to tell me how you are feeling,” and he leaned back in his chair, raising his eyebrows expectedly. “All of you. That includes you, Jon!”

Sasha obliged happily, telling them about the daily schedule she had come up with, and how she thought that her dog is the biggest help in keeping her sane. Tim told them about his workout routine, and that he had started trying to bake his own bread, but so far had failed miserably. Martin really preferred to listen, but after being encouraged by Tim and Sasha, told them that he felt pretty good most of the time. He talked about his current favourite novel, and that he was helping this old lady who lived in the apartment next to him with her groceries, even though she had seemed to hate him before. Then it was Jonathan’s turn to talk, and the video chat grew quiet. He looked at his screen, seemingly exasperated, but then gave in as Tim was still grinning and edging closer to his webcam, being weirdly intimidating.

“Alright, well… I don’t really have a lot to tell you. I’m going through the statements, I am still trying to find a system and I have trouble recording some of them, as I told you before.”

“No, boss. No work talk. Personal talk!” Tim demanded.

Jonathan threw his hands up in defeat, and Martin couldn’t help but find the gesture endearing.

“Fine! I… I watched a documentary the other night. There!” he crossed his arms, apparently satisfied with the amount of personal information he had just shared.

“Ohhh, what was it about?” Sasha asked eagerly. “True crime? Animals? War?”

“Doping in Russia.”

“Oh,” Sasha seemed less interested immediately.

“Wait, there’s something else I need to know...,” Tim’s voice sounded again, seemingly excited, “Jon, can you cook? Or are you living on instant noodles and frozen pizza?”

“Of course I can cook! I am a grown man, Tim,” he responded resentfully, as Martin felt guilty of, well, doing exactly that; he was living on ready meals, frozen pizza and instant noodles mostly. “I have made myself some curry earlier, actually.”

“Damn,” Tim mumbled, and judging from Sasha’s smug grin, he had lost some money right then.

Jonathan cleared his throat, looking back at them seriously. “Well, I really think that’s enough for now. If you want to continue this conversation… I guess I won’t stop you. But I still have some work to do.”

“Thanks boss! Good talk,” Tim responded cheerfully. Sasha replicated Tim’s words, and Martin felt obliged to do the same: “Thank you for your time, Jonathan.”

It had seemed that Jonathan was already about to exit the conversation, but then he paused for a moment. He was definitely considering something, and Tim and Sasha had already left the meeting, so Martin got to look at his face full-on once more.

“Please, Martin. I prefer Jon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, hi!! This is my first time posting on AO3, so I'd love any type of feedback! You can also [find me on tumblr](http://imbekkable.tumblr.com/).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to my friend [annbun](http://annbun.tumblr.com/), who simply rocks and gives the best feedback.  
> This is a very silly chapter so I apologise in advance haha. I also added some new tags for this chapter!
> 
> Enjoy!

(3 new messages):

Tim Stoker:

 _come on, it will be fun!_ ;)

Sasha James:

_Don’t you think we’ll lose our jobs if he figures it out?_

Tim Stoker:

_but how would he figure it out?_

Martin was staring at his phone screen, watching the conversation in their archival assistants group chat unfold. Tim had suggested turning their next zoom session with Jon into a drinking game. Martin considered that to be a very bold idea and also maybe a little disrespectful towards Jon, but he felt thrilled, nonetheless. It had been a few years since he had been part of a drinking game. And he did enjoy listening to Jon talk, so there was an advantage in that as well. Jonathan. _Jon_. He shoved his thoughts away before any bad ones could start manifesting in his mind again.

(1 new message)

Sasha James:

_You know what? Screw it. I’m in. I’m so bored. Martin?_

He left his thumb hover over his screen, weighing his options.

_Sure, sounds fun!_

He smiled as he typed, feeling giddy, and pressed send. Tim was typing to his message immediately.

(4 new messages)

Tim Stoker:

_knew I could count on you, martin!!!_

_alright, so I’d say we take a shot every time he says a certain word. like “statement”_

Sasha James:

_My suggestion: “research”_

Tim Stoker:

_good one, sash!_

Martin thought about it. He wasn’t sure about which words Jon was likely to say, as he didn’t seem to enjoy talking too much to them anyway. But he did want to offer one, so he typed: _Maybe “tape” could work? Since he’s not letting us forget that he’s the one doing all the work apparently._

It didn’t take more than a few seconds for the replies to come in.

(3 new messages):

Tim Stoker:

_haha, yeah, wreck him martin!!_

Sasha James:

_Maybe we each take a shot when he says our name as well? So, if he says my name, only I drink. And I think that’s enough, I don’t want to get alcohol poisoning._

_What’s your drink of choice, mates?_

Martin looked up from his phone, striding into the kitchen and looking through his cupboards, before walking towards his pantry. He was sure that there must be some alcoholic beverage there, even though he didn’t really drink wine and hadn’t bought anything else in ages. He gave a triumphant “Hah!” as he found a glass bottle full of a clear liquid.

 _Seems like I only have Vodka at home… Don’t even know where I got that from, to be honest_..., he typed after opening the bottle and giving it a sniff.

(2 new messages):

Sasha James:

_Maybe dilute it with some orange juice? Make it a screwdriver! I think I’ll indulge in some red wine. If I drink it from a mug, do you think it’ll pass off as fruit tea?_

Tim Stoker:

_yeaaaahh martin!!! go big or go home!! oh I’m sure it’ll be fine, sasha. I got my lager right here!_

Attached was a selfie of Tim, filling a bottle of beer into a stainless-steel water bottle.

Luckily enough, Martin did have some orange juice waiting for him in his fridge. He followed Sasha’s advice and mixed himself a drink, pouring the liquids into one of the bigger mugs he owned. He wasn’t sure if he had put too much vodka in as he gave it a taste, but it was definitely drinkable, so he felt content with it.

_Alright, I’m ready!_

As he texted the others, he settled behind his desk and opened his laptop once again.

(2 new messages):

Tim Stoker:

_btw, I’m not wearing any trousers, so if anyone’s uncomfortable with that you better let me know now :)_

Sasha James:

_Ew. You do you I guess, just don’t stand up while we can see you._

It was almost half past five in the afternoon, and Martin had finally abandoned the thought of dressing up all posh. He was wearing one of his favourite soft cotton shirts instead. It was simple enough to count as timeless, so he was sure he wouldn’t be the one offending anyone with his outfit choices today. Tim on the other hand had told them that he was cleaning out his closet and tried to wear all the best things he could find in there in the upcoming weeks. He barely dared to admit that he was looking forward to being entertained by him, with or without his trousers on. He joined the meeting and was glad to see that Jon wasn’t there yet as he, Sasha and Tim raised their mugs and bottle, greeting each other and taking a sip from their drinks. For a second, it looked like Tim might start to give a toast, wearing a shirt that read “I like my men how I like my women” – which provided Martin some food for thought – but both his contemplation and Tim were interrupted by Jon joining them.

“Good evening,” Martin noticed how Jon’s voice was starting to sound familiar, and he wondered if he could replicate it in his mind if he tried hard enough. “I’m hoping you had time to read through the latest statement that I’ve sent you,” they all took a sip from their drinks, as Martin was trying not to giggle. “Now, I must ask you… Sasha, were you able to obtain the police file I was asking you about?”

Sasha nodded, taking one more drink from her mug, before she started to give Jon all the information she had received. Martin really put his time to good use as he indulged in staring at Jon. It was the first time that he saw him in a shirt without a tie. And… was he imagining it? Was the first button of the shirt left open? It couldn’t be. By the time Sasha had finished explaining, Jon had responded to her several times, saying the words _statement_ three, and research two times. Martin needed to take smaller sips, or he would be done with his drink in less than ten minutes.

“Tim, you mentioned to me yesterday that you found something as well?”

Martin watched Tim nodding sternly as he took another sip from his drink, before he gave Jon a very lengthy answer. Martin was almost surprised when Jon kept his responses short, making the others drink only twice more, before he deemed his conversation with Tim finished.

“Now, I’ve recorded several dozen statements to my laptop, and a few on tape so far,” Jon spoke, and as Martin took two more sips, he had a sudden idea. He interrupted Jon before he could stop himself.

“You could send those to me. The ones you recorded to your laptop; I mean. And I can sort through them and make notes and cross-reference them, if necessary. If you like?”

Jon’s lips became quite thin as he pressed them together, but he didn’t seem completely against it. Martin felt his face grow warm, noticing the attention of everyone directed towards him. Then he heard Jon say, almost a tad defeated, “Maybe that’s not the worst idea, Martin.”

His heart started beating a little harder. It was probably the alcohol. He had to remember to have another drink. “But then we would still be missing the ones that I cannot seem to digitise. I would really like someone to go over those as well. You said the statements I typed down for you are starting to show up as corrupted?” he directed the question towards all of them, and they nodded morosely as they drank. “I see… Maybe I will talk to Elias about it. He did mention that he had something else to discuss other than the statements.”

Jon raised one eyebrow then, and Martin watched him as his eyes flicked from one part of the screen to another. “I can see you are trying to stay hydrated, so I’m taking this as a sign that you’re well.”

Sasha lost it right then but managed to disguise the reason for her giggle as her big fluffy dog appeared on screen and put his head into her lap. Her cheeks were flushed, and Martin suspected that he was not the only one to feel the effect of the alcohol.

“Yep!” Tim chimed in. “Hello to you, Sasha’s doggo! But really, we’re just over here trying to stay healthy is what we’re doing. What are you doing to stay fit, boss?”

“Um, well,” and then Martin had the privilege to watch Jon become flustered, and him being tipsy or not, it was quite a wonderful sight. “I, um… I do have a habit of walking while reading, so that... that’s something. Right? That must count.”

“Nope, nope, nope, doesn’t count,” Tim was shaking his head furiously. “You need to find your thing, Jon!” and now he started gesturing wildly. “Your thing!”

“I’ve tried a bit of Yoga the other day,” Martin found himself saying. He couldn’t be sure if it even counted, as he had only been following along to a five-minute-long YouTube video. But he had felt a bit better afterwards, and when he had tried to touch his toes bending down, keeping legs and back straight, he had come a significant amount closer to the ground than before.

“Oh, that sounds lovely! I’ve always wanted to try Yoga!” Sasha clasped her hands together in excitement. “You could show me, Martin!”

“Ohhh, that’s a cool idea!” Tim also clasped his hands together, and the pair of them started to look quite comical. “We could do like... little livestreams and tutorials for each other. I could show you my workout-routine!”

“That’s not-, that is _not_ what this platform should be used for!” Jon exclaimed, trying to get the others to calm down again.

“Boss… We have to keep each other _healthy_!” Tim dragged out the last word, really emphasising it. “Both mentally and physically, right? I’d really like to see who’s able to do the most push-ups. Shall we do that right now? Let’s do it right now!” and then Martin watched in horror as Tim got up, revealing his trouser-less legs and black boxers.

“Tim! Why would- Where are your trousers? Even if we’re working from home... this is- this is still a workplace!”

It didn’t seem like Tim was even able to hear Jon, as he had abandoned his headphones and appeared to be busy counting the push-ups he was performing. From what Martin could make out, Tim had a good form.

“Oh, you’re on, Stoker!” Sasha giggled and shoved her laptop away from her, so that they had a better view. Tim was passing the twenty mark as she finally started going for it, her dog obscuring the view as he ran around her excitedly.

“This is ridiculous!” Jon yelled. “You two, stop immediately! Martin! Make them stop!”

“What am I supposed to do?” he laughed, enjoying the chaos and remembering to take another sip from his drink. Sasha had collapsed onto her back the instant her dog started licking her face which had sent her into a fit of laughter, while Tim was still doing push-ups, counting past thirty now.

“Alright. I don’t see a point in this, I’m leaving,” Jon really seemed to be done with them as he left their meeting, closing the window for Martin as well. He let himself fall back into his chair, still giggling over the whole situation. Jon had seemed... mad, yes. But he had also asked Martin to help him, kind of. And had thought Martin’s idea to be worth considering, maybe. And had seemed a little less uptight than before, even if it was only in his appearance.

“Oh no,” Martin sighed, still grinning as he was covering his face with his hands, letting his head fall back onto the headrest of his chair. Could that bloody bubble just burst already? Crushing on a co-worker was one thing. Crushing on your boss a whole other thing. But crushing on your boss during a worldwide pandemic with an unforeseeable future and no way of actually meeting face to face? Not his best idea, really.

\---

It was the sixth _funny animals compilation_ that Martin was watching in a row, and he had yet to find a single regret in his body. It felt almost therapeutic, a nice distraction. Sure, he could consider doing some more research, but Jon was dismissing almost every single statement as insignificant, so it started to feel redundant. Holding his phone still in one hand, he tried to grab his mug and drink from it without spilling it onto himself, as he was lying on his back. He had only taken a small sip when he heard the familiar noise of a notification. He knew it was from the work chat he had left open on his laptop for whatever reason. He grunted as he lifted his body up to sit and tried his best to move as little as possible as he grabbed the laptop that was positioned at the end of his bed. Isolation made him a lazy man. It was a message from Jon.

> _I have some new informatiassmmm bd------g-_

Martin stared at his laptop screen, wondering if his boss had suffered from a stroke, or was experiencing some kind of extraordinary pain that made him unable to write coherent messages. It was highly unusual for him to be sending a message that was not impeccable. He was about ask, his fingers ready to type away, as another one came in.

> _I apologize. It was the cat._

Martin made an involuntary little noise that he would have felt embarrassed by, but he couldn’t help himself, imagining Jon with a feline friend. It really was a wonderful image.

> _He won’t let me type. Zoom instead. Asap._

Martin opened the app straight away. He wasn’t sure if he should wait for Tim and Sasha to give a sign that they were joining them, just to guarantee that he wasn’t in the position of sharing an awkward silence with Jon yet again. But then he might miss his chance of seeing Jon with a cat. He clicked the participate button.

“-es I know, you’re wonderful, you deserve a lot more than that, Admiral, but I need my hands back now and I need my laptop and it would be nice of you to- Oh, um, hello Martin,” Jon cleared his throat. “Thank you for, ah, joining me so quickly.”

Martin covered his mouth with his hand, checking his image on his laptop to make sure that he looked put together, but hiding a grin behind it. Jon’s voice had just been the softest he had ever heard it.

“I see you, ah, own a cat?” he asked through his fingers, taking in the view. Jon was still sitting at the same place as he was for all their meetings, but was contently petting the cat in his lap, which purred loudly enough for Martin to hear it. He was wearing a big grey jumper with different brown patterns on it. It made him look a lot smaller, and a lot less intimidating. Martin wished to never look at anything else ever again.

“Um, well, yes, it’s not technically my cat, it’s- “, Jon answered, but was interrupted as Tim joined them and immediately started chanting, “Cat! Cat! Cat! Cat!”

Sasha joined them a few seconds later, but any greeting was lost as Tim was still cheering, now demanding of Jon to “do the Lion King thing”.

“Kind of rude that my dog didn’t get the same reaction,” Martin heard Sasha say underneath the noise.

“Will you please calm down!” Jon uttered, appearing to get exasperated with Tim less than a minute into their meeting. It would be a new record. “This is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about,” he continued, petting the cat on his lap more vigorously. “I’ve spoken to Elias about our online meetings and took the liberty to inform him that they sometimes feel, ah, a little _unproductive_. I suggested that it was perfectly fine for me to give you your assignments in written form and use the chatroom for any discussions, but he proposed that we should start having, err, _individual_ meetings instead. I don’t really see a point in doing that, but he urged me to make sure that I ask about your health, both mental and physical. He mentioned something about a deeper level of communication as well, and an… what did he call it? _An immediate emotional reaction that one simply cannot replicate via written text_ ,” he paused there, looking as if the words he was saying left a bitter taste in his mouth. “Elias wants us to have one-on-one sessions every day except for the weekends, and a group meeting every Monday. I’ll be honest - I’m not thrilled about this decision, but I’ll accept it. I will be sending every one of you a schedule for the next week. Please be conscious of your attire when joining the meetings,” and even though Martin could not be sure, he was willing to bet money on Jon looking straight at Tim as he said that, “as these conversations will remain to be of a professional nature only.”

Tim looked ready to interrupt, but Jon had learned to read the signs, and finished the meeting by saying, “That is all, thank you for your time.”

Martin barely had time to progress everything that had been said, when a message reached his phone. He opened their archival assistants group chat (Tim had changed its name to “The A-Team”) to find a text from Tim that simply read “ _one-on-one-sessions huh”_ followed by an emoji of two eyes looking to the left. Martin snorted as he let himself fall back onto his bed.

He could not imagine himself having a decent private conversation with Jon, but then again, he wouldn’t have guessed the other to adore cats. Maybe he could ask Jon about the pet again. Maybe having a proper conversation with him was a possible thing to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I'm still not sure about the format (I'm still new to this ahsdhasj) so if it looks like crap please tell me!
> 
> I am also looking for someone to beta this work, so please let me now if you'd be interested in that!  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

“But I still don’t… What is the objective? How do you _win_?”

“No! No, no, no, you don’t _win_ really, I mean there are so many things that you can do! It really is up to you – the player – see? You can try to collect fish, and bugs - and you’re responsible for all the cute little animals, right? To-, to build bridges and inclines and stuff; they can’t do that without me -”, and as Martin talked, he realised how silly he sounded, but there were still so many other things to consider. It was most important that Jon _understood_.

“What are you on about, Martin? Of course there’s an objective - it's to win Isabelle's heart,” Tim interrupted, looking dead serious as he spoke. Martin did not feel good about that.

“Tim that is just _not_ true.”

“You just said it yourself! It’s up to the player! I’m getting her to date me,” and with that Tim crossed his arms and leaned back, a smug grin on his face. Martin tried to remain calm. “I always choose her in _Smash_ , she’s basically dating me already. It’s just a matter of time, you’ll see.”

“You disgust me, Tim.”

Sasha was laughing now, and yet Jon remained looking not any less confused.

“So, it’s like one of those dating simulator games?” his boss tried and Sasha started laughing even harder while Tim showed an affirmative reaction by snapping his fingers and turning them into finger guns. Martin could not believe that Jon knew what that was. He did not think _anyone_ over the age of thirty-five would've ever heard of dating sims. Let alone Jon. Martin made haste to not let Tim convince him that it was, but then realised something. Dating _Sims_. Obviously, somebody must have mentioned that to Jon before. It didn’t take long until Sasha came to the same conclusion and shared it with the group. Jon did not exactly seem happy about it. But he was in luck, as Sasha soon turned to another topic and told them about her character’s career choices in _The Sims_.

It was another Monday. Their group meeting had somehow turned from talking about their fruitless research about statements to talking about video games. Martin really didn’t mind, since he had been playing all weekend with the exception of listening to the statements Jon had sent him. He had done the latter not really as part of his work – since it had been the weekend – but more for his own enjoyment. There really was no use in denying it at this point; he was full on crushing on Jon. And it was developing into something else, which was even worse. Hearing his voice and seeing his face every day except for two days a week didn’t help his case at all. He had hoped that Jon’s personality might help along in making him like him less – since he was still mostly rude and grumpy. But the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that there must be something underneath that hard shell. And he really wanted to find out if he was right.

All of a sudden, Jon seemed to become aware of the fact that they had been talking about non-work-related-things for at least twenty minutes now and cleared his throat importantly.

“Well, thank you for joining me again. I’ll start with our, ah, individual meetings as we agreed upon. So, make sure to follow the link that I’ve sent you via email. You know when our meeting is scheduled, but I don’t expect them to take very long, since we already spoke just now,” and then he muttered, barely distinguishable, “I still don’t see a point in this, really.”

And with a few more farewells the meeting was over, and Martin was left to his own devices. He had to wait another thirty minutes for his private meeting to start. He considered doing some work, to find another phone number to call, to go through some online database. To find anything that could be related to the statements they had received, as he had done all morning. Instead he got up and made himself a cup of tea, hoping it would have a calming effect. He went and took a look into his mirror again, trying to master the situation that was his hair. He had even put on proper trousers for the first time in three days but considered abandoning them now. They really weren’t even visible during their meetings. And somehow, they just felt wrong on him now. Jon wouldn’t be able to make out a difference, unless he demanded Martin to stand up, which he considered very unlikely. And he was not about to perform push-ups for the camera like Tim did. He stood there, hands on his hips, contemplating his options, but then decided to keep them on. He thought that it would probably feel too weird not to wear them.

It didn’t take too long before half an hour was over, and he re-opened the zoom app with a sigh. The screen told him that he had to wait for the host to start the meeting, so he took a sip of his tea and leaned back a little. There was hope. It could just be a nice, unagitated meeting between two professional men. He watched a bird fly by his window. There was a stream of sunlight coming in, illuminating the specks of dust that were floating lazily through his living room. It made him feel oddly at ease.

“Martin.”

The voice which belonged to Jon made Martin jump, and he managed to spill some of his tea on his shirt, staining it successfully. He knew he was blushing. His ears felt hot.

“Oh, well, hello, Jon!” he smiled and tried to hide the fact that his heartrate had increased rapidly, patting the wet stain as nonchalantly as possible. “Good to see you again!”

Jon looked just as dashing as he had thirty minutes ago. It was just not fair, really. His brows were furrowed, in a fashion that was either just disapproving of Martin’s behaviour or straight up disgusted. Martin wasn’t sure. He still looked hot, wearing a dress shirt in olive green. Martin had preferred the look he had got to witness last week and was curious to find out if Jon owned any other chunky jumpers. Maybe he could just ask him?

“Well. Yes, um, so. I will ask you some question which you may or may not answer. How are you handling the current situation? Do you want the institute to take additional measures to support your wellbeing? Is there anything I – as your head archivist – can do to improve the situation for you?”

Jon’s intonation of the questions made Martin feel like he was reading them from a statement that had been prepared by the institute itself. He didn’t even seem to look at his screen while posing them. He tried really hard not to be disappointed by that.

“Well, I mean... I guess – not really? I’m... I’m fine.”, and he gave a shaky laugh. He wouldn’t even consider talking to Jon about his feelings. Considering his mother. That he’s had no contact to her in weeks and was afraid that she might get sick and die alone. Or how he had never felt this lonely falling asleep, now that he knew it was basically impossible for someone to be lying next to him anytime soon. That he hadn’t been able to write poems, caused by a lack of motivation. That he sometimes had no appetite and sometimes too much of it. That the only thing that made his day worthwhile was a silly little video game. And maybe Jon’s voice. Jon’s voice that was harsh to him, always oh _so_ _professional_ but awfully indifferent when they talked. The voice was the best thing to fall asleep to, even when it spoke about sinister encounters or beings or circumstances. Jon had not shown any interest in Martin’s personal life so far and did not appear to start doing it anytime soon.

“Well, that is all there is to discuss, really. I think we both have work to get back to,” Jon said, in a tone that made it very clear that the discussion was over, and the one minute they had just spent together was already taking too much out of his workday.

“Oh, yes! Well… Actually, there is one thing…”, and Martin realised he deserved an answer. He didn’t have to talk about his feelings or his wellbeing. But that, he needed to know. “You didn’t have a chance to tell me more about your cat.”

“My… Oh, you mean the Admiral!” and Jon’s face softened visibly and immediately. Martin tried not to grin in triumph. “Well, my – uh, my friend decided to stay with her parents to help them out with groceries and whatnot. And her dad is allergic to cats, so… She felt like I was fit to do the job. I’m not exactly mad she did. He’s a good cat.”

Martin watched as Jon smiled at what was presumably the cat in question offscreen and felt his chest grow heavy.

“From what I have witnessed, he really did look like a good cat.”

And then, for maybe just a fraction of a second, Jon faced his screen and was smiling still, at Martin. He must have realised what he was doing immediately, as his face turned gloomy almost instantly, but Martin was convinced that it had happened. He tried his best to burn the image into his mind.

“Well then. If that is all, I’d like to end this meeting now. There’s work to do, as you recall,” Jon continued, all business once again, and Martin nodded understandably before bidding him goodbye. It had only been a few minutes, and Jon had really not cared about anything Martin had to say, but yet. His ears felt hot still.

He gulped down the remainder of his tea and went to change his shirt. When he flopped down on his bed, he put his head in his hands. And he grinned. Jon had such a good smile. He would really love to see more of it, since it was such a rare sight. But then reality returned, and Martin sat up, rubbing at his eyes, his forehead. Jon was not interested in him, not romantically, not in his friendship, not even in him as a person. He avoided talking to Martin, even in their group conversations. He could literally not care less about him, it seemed. Martin had to find a way to rid himself of his feelings for him, or it would probably destroy him eventually. But until then, he would let himself fall back on his bed, closing his eyes not to find darkness, but instead find Jon smiling there.

\---

It had been a few hours, and he had managed to dig up a promising contact to help them with another statement, as Tim and Sasha suddenly demanded Martin to pick up his phone.

“So, how did your private sessions go?” Tim asked, and the innuendo was so heavy in his voice that Martin made a face of disgust. Tim didn’t seem to notice.

“You know, it really wasn’t so bad! He asked me about how I got my dog, and we talked for... I think solid eight minutes? I expected maybe two, at the most.”

“Right? Me too! I was so surprised. He even said I did good work; can you believe that?”

Martin could believe Tim. He did good work, and Sasha too. He felt a little jealous, still, as he listened to them talking about their conversations with Jon. He did not show it, did not fill their own conversation with bitterness. After all he felt grateful to be included by them and enjoyed their virtual presence. It helped with the loneliness. They seemed to enjoy it too, since they had already talked earlier today, and they still decided to talk again now. Maybe he could find a way to speak to them about the things he couldn’t with Jon. A few of them, at least. They continued talking about the news and the progress and politics and Martin was glad to find himself agreeing with the others. They talked about their daily routines, when Sasha told them that she had found an edition of _Dark Stories_ while tidying up.

“I have no idea what that even is,” Tim said, and Martin was glad he had, because he was not familiar with it either.

“Oh, I think it might have been a present from my friend from Germany, actually. Shall I explain it to you?”

“I didn’t know you had a friend from Germany.”

“Well, you do not know everything about me, Tim,” Martin saw her winking. “Well, basically, it’s a game with a bunch of riddles to solve, they’re all kind of morbid, and you only get to know a few details when you start. Then you have to ask yes or no questions which I will answer until you solve it and know the whole story. Do you think we could convince Jon to play along? It’s really fun, and I don’t know; I think he would be weirdly into it. Maybe if we convince him that it might be a lead for one of the statements?”

“Sasha, I think you could be onto something there,” Tim smiled. “Shall we do a test run? I’m already intrigued.”

They spent another hour playing the game. It had taken a bit until Tim and Martin really got a feel for it, but they got better the longer they played, and soon knew which questions to ask right at the beginning. They managed to solve four riddles in that time, when Tim finally decided that it was time for his evening workout. Martin had enjoyed it a lot more than he had expected and was really looking forward to finding out if Jon would be willing to join them for a game. He could hardly imagine him giving up his work time for a recreational activity, but he still didn’t really know the man, so he could be wrong. Maybe the others knew how to convince him.

The days went by faster than Martin expected, finally, after March had felt like several years. He was glad to be able to report useful results from his research as well. Jon was still dismissing the statements they were working on as useless and furthermore remained unimpressed by Martin’s work. It hurt but Martin was not about to show that. He persisted on smiling at Jon when they talked and showing him his best side. Even if Jon seemed to think of him as highly as he thought of a dust mite – Martin was not about to show any bad manners. Especially since the part of him that wanted to impress Jon was growing ever larger, still.

It was Friday, and their daily conversations had barely improved, neither in length nor in content. Jon refused to share basically any information concerning his personal life and Martin was not about to press him. He tried to catch glimpses of who Jon was outside of his work persona, to understand what he liked and how he spent his time. Except for the lucky moments where he had caught him with or talking about the Admiral, he remained unsuccessful. It did not make things easier that Tim and Sasha seemed to be getting along with Jon like old friends. Martin wondered what it was that Jon found so repulsive about him. Tim had complained when he had used that word to describe Jon’s opinion on him, but he still found it to be the most accurate. Jon visibly disliked talking to Martin. There was no interest whatsoever in his voice when he enquired about Martin’s wellbeing. And Martin was absolutely convinced that they would not be having daily conversations if Elias didn’t require Jon to do it.

It was almost six pm when Sasha called Martin to tell him that she had managed to persuade Jon to join them for an after-work video chat and that she had laid down a few rules for it.

“First of all, no talk about the statements, the institute or this goddamn pandemic. We’ll play the game I introduced you and Tim to, remember? The one we played on Monday? And Jon is going to have some _fun_ doing that, dammit. And if he starts being a dick towards _anybody_ ,“ Martin knew she meant him, specifically, “I’ll find a hazard suit just so I can kick him in the ass in person.”

Martin laughed. The thought of Sasha kicking Jon’s ass in a hazard suit made him feel giddy, but he also hoped that Jon wouldn’t test her. He was about 70% convinced that she was really going to do it. Sasha told him to be ready in fifteen minutes, so he scrambled to his feet to make himself look somewhat presentable and put on deodorant. It was not like the others were able to smell him through their screens, but somehow it still made him feel better. He waited for Tim and Sasha to tell him that they initiated the meeting before joining in, now actively avoiding creating awkward situations between him and Jon. Their daily conversations were bad enough already.

He was the last to join. Tim was wearing something that looked like a crop-top hoodie which succeeded in showing off his entire middle (especially his abs, Martin noted), while Sasha was enwrapping herself in a blanket, game cards in her hand. Jon had opted for a different outfit than the one he was wearing before. Instead of a dress shirt, Martin found Jon to be wearing another jumper in a fine knit, one that was in a shade of a deep red. This one fit him differently than the chunky one he got to witness a week ago. Martin was afraid that if Jon would lift his arms, it might ride up enough for his belly to show. The thought made his mind go blank, and he was glad to find Sasha still explaining the rules of the game they were about to play when he finally managed to snap out of it.

It didn’t take long for Martin to realise that Sasha had been right. Jon was very into the game as soon as they started, and while Tim and Martin just threw random ideas out there to see if they got them anywhere, Jon took it _very_ seriously. However, Martin found that he had a knack for guessing the right things, so he happened to be the one to find their last missing information more often than not.

“You’re… not so bad at this.”, he heard Jon say. It was almost drowned out by the noises of victory Tim was making, but he was sure he said it. However, it did not sound like a compliment. There had been something that felt like accusation in his voice, or maybe injured pride. It was definitely not Jon being impressed by his skills. Jon was frowning and Martin was sure it was because he did not approve of him being somewhat passable at this game. It was just another reason for Jon not to like him, apparently.

“Well… I just got lucky, I guess?” Martin offered, although Jon’s words somehow made him become even more ambitious. He was going to show him that he was more than not so bad at this game. He was going to get _really_ good at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd be more than happy to hear your thoughts on this chapter!!
> 
> And I am also still looking for someone to beta this work, if you're interested! You can also [find and talk to me on tumblr](https://imbekkable.tumblr.com), I'd love to chat!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me?? posting another chapter in the middle of the week?? it's more likely than you think.
> 
> Enjoy! :D

Jon was mad at Martin.

He was mad at him because he had been sure that he would cause nothing but delays. And Martin had the _audacity_ to keep surprising him every day. Martin was relentlessly hardworking. He knew Tim and Sasha, knew that they did good work, but was also aware that the current situation had changed their work ethic. They were doing about seventy percent of what they’d probably achieve in the institute. It was still good work, so he wasn’t going to complain.

But _Martin_. Martin was different. Martin listened and gave more than a hundred percent and was smarter than he had thought, and wittier too. Even funny if he wanted to and so strangely _kind_. Martin _smiled_ at Jon, almost as if he was something pleasant to look at, and he did it all the time. Jon had no idea how to react to that. He was soft, and big, and it made him inexplicably mad. There was an urge in Jon, an urge to jump through his screen whenever he saw his face and, and... hit him in the chest maybe? But then Martin would probably be able to lift him up, with those big arms. They made him mad, too.

And now Martin was defeating him in this game, no matter how many times Sasha tried to explain to him that there was no winner, that it was a _team effort_. Losing against Tim or Sasha was one thing, but Martin? He felt his face grow hot in anger. He hated to admit that he was impressed.

“Well, I think that’s enough for tonight. It was fun though! Thanks for playing with me!” and as Sasha talked, she seemed earnest. Jon felt a little ashamed that he had been distracted by his ambition and had not relished the moment like he could’ve had. He had viewed it as another assignment that he had to conquer, instead of enjoying time with his co-workers.

He had felt lonely lately. That was probably the reason he found himself opening his mouth to talk.

“We could play again sometime.”

The group grew very quiet, as all three of his archival assistants looked at their screens in surprise. He felt an upward tug at the corners of his mouth and allowed himself to continue. “I’ve got to redeem myself; I can’t keep losing to Martin.”

He watched and listened as Tim and Sasha laughed, while Martin’s ears turned visibly red. It seemed like he was embarrassed by Jon’s words, but his face showed something that looked like gratification. It made his insides churn.

It was almost eight pm when Jon left the app, and he found his mouth to be dry from talking. He walked away from his workspace to fetch himself a glass of water, as the Admiral immediately found his way around his ankles. He bent down to scratch him behind his ears, and then leaned against the kitchen counter, his glass still in his hand.

He let out a deep sigh as his shoulders slumped down, a strange feeling washing over him. Something was tugging at his heart and his stomach felt strange, his head was too hot, and for a moment he panicked. Maybe he had made a mistake, had been too careless, and got himself sick after all. He took several rapid breaths, but didn’t feel an itch, didn’t feel the need to cough. He sunk down to the floor, convincing himself that he was fine and let the Admiral walk over his lap. His free hand found its way into his fur and his head rolled back against the counter. That strange reaction had happened a few times in the last days, and he had yet to find an explanation for it. What was he reacting to?

The others were fun. The others laughed and joked and teased one another. Why was it so hard for him to join in? To laugh along with Tim’s lascivious remarks or indulge in one of Sasha’s wild theories? Martin had no problem laughing along. Martin was attentive enough to mention something that Jon had said days ago in passing, and made it seem effortless. Martin cared and he showed it easily and Jon was envious of him.

Jon took off his glasses to rub his face with both of his hands, letting his cool palms rest there for a minute or so.

He could use some sleep. It was still early, but maybe he could treat himself to a bath, read a book and turn in. It sounded simple enough, to not get lost in work again only to realise that it was already three in the morning and his back was hurting. The Admiral stepped back onto his lap and nudged his chin, which made Jon laugh in gratitude.

“You don’t just love me because I give you food, right?” he asked the cat. The Admiral purred and looked at Jon with huge eyes, and he petted him appreciatively. At least he had him to snuggle and spend time with. That wasn’t so bad.

\---

Jon had messed up.

He had messed up by being inattentive and curious and tired. He had messed up and was on the verge of panicking. The only thing he meant to be doing was to see if the zoom app could give him information of somebody being online. Just because… he was curious. And the first contact just so happened to be Martin. It was not his fault that his surname started with a goddamn B.

It was half past nine pm on a Sunday and he was video calling Martin Blackwood by accident. He didn’t have many options, and with every second passing by, they decreased. He could quit the call before Martin answered and send a message to tell him that it had been by accident. Which was the truth. It’s what he should be doing. But that somehow made him feel like a coward, so the other option was to wait for Martin to pick up and explain it then. If he were in Martin’s position, he would like an explanation immediately. Maybe he could even find a way to blame it on Martin? Or maybe, if he was lucky, he wouldn’t pick up and he could pretend that it never happened.

“Hey, Jon?”

For god’s sake.

“Um, oh, uh, g-, good evening, Martin.”

Martin was wearing chequered pyjamas and glasses and his hair was a mess and he was in his bed and Jon was… furious again? No, he wasn’t. He felt hot and then cold, his mouth dry, and there was a sinking feeling in his stomach. He was so distracted that he forgot to speak.

“Um, can I help you with anything?” Martin asked, the kindest smile back on his face. And Jon _yearned_. For what? To punch him? To wipe that goddamn smile of his face?

“Oh, um. No, actually, I was- I was…,” what was he doing? He forgot. What was he meant to say? “I didn’t mean to do that. Call you, I mean. I-, I’m going to hang up now. See you tomorrow.”

He hung up before Martin could answer. His heart was not leaving him alone. It felt familiar, but to what? He felt like that one summer when he was fourteen and a girl at the coast had bought him ice cream after she had watched him drop his own. Like that one time he had attended a pup crawl during Freshers’ Week, and the brother of his friend’s friend had bowed deeply while holding the door open for him. He felt like the time he had watched Georgie lift five chairs at once with ease. He felt something he hadn’t felt for years.

Oh no.

No. Martin was _not_ cute in those pyjamas.

He cursed and stood up, pacing through his room, taking a book in his hand, setting it down somewhere else without looking at it, grabbing his laptop where he had left it on his desk. In his wild fury, he considered chucking it out through his window, to not deal with any of this again. Martin was still online.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed and grabbed his hair while slumping down onto his chair. He squeezed his eyes shut to make it stop, make the feelings stop. He couldn’t. He could not let himself develop any sort of affection. For Martin. That was ridiculous. He wouldn’t allow himself to do that.

“Fuck,” he said again, quietly. He let his head fall against his desk in defeat. His body felt like liquid wax, about to spill onto the floor and disappear between the floorboards. He wished he could.

\---

Jon could not stop thinking about Martin.

He woke up on Monday morning feeling like he hadn’t slept at all. The more he tried to fight it, the worse it got. His emotions were like weeds, finding their way into every inch of him, and every time he felt like he had successfully teared them out, they came back only stronger. They must have been growing there for a while, undetected.

Jon had noticed Martin for the first time at a Christmas party two years ago. He had worn a reindeer headband, which had looked ridiculous, and had talked to people Jon had not known. Even then he had acknowledged that Martin had a kind face, and strong arms that looked like they could give great hugs, and somehow felt drawn to him. A part of him had convinced himself that he had forgotten about it immediately. But he had noticed him in the hallways of the institute, in the breakroom, in the foyer, in the library. Martin had caught his eye always, although he never dared to look at him longer than a blink of an eye. Of course, all it did back then was cause irritation.

There were many things he’d like to say to Martin, but he was not about to make the mistake of letting his _feelings_ get the better of him. He was Martin’s boss. They talked over a damn video chatroom and weren’t even able to see each other in real life. He barely even knew the man. And most importantly, Jon’s dating record was proof enough that it was less than likely. Martin wouldn’t even consider Jon to be someone deserving of love and affection. He knew he couldn’t expect Martin to find him likeable. He didn’t even find himself very likeable – or even tolerable – most days.

He was dreading their upcoming video calls. All he wanted was to hide somewhere and let these pesky feelings die, so that he could go back to being productive. He tried to spend the time before noon with the statements, to go through the notes of his assistants, but he kept on being distracted. It was almost as if his brain had waited for him to catch up with his feelings and was now drowning him in thoughts.

When the time displayed on his phone told him that it was past time to eat something, he forced himself to go through his refrigerator. He did not feel like cooking, so instead just grabbed whatever various ingredients that would work for a sandwich and prepared it quickly. The food tasted like nothing and he felt full after two bites. He sighed, feeding the Admiral before going back to his desk.

He had not showered. His hair was starting to obscure his face – he’d have to cut it off or tie it back soon. He was still wearing the shirt he had slept in, unobtrusive, dark blue. He knew he should change and brush his hair and wash his face if he wanted to remain presentable. Did the others even care? Tim certainly didn’t. He could tell them that he wasn’t feeling well and cancel the meetings for today. But then again, they might suspect that he was sick with the virus and bother him about it. And Martin would probably still want an explanation about last night.

“Screw it,” he said and opened the zoom app. He hadn’t changed his clothes, hadn’t brushed his hair. He ran his fingers through it, tucking it behind his ears where possible. He joined the meeting. Martin and Tim looked back at him through his screen.

“Whoa, boss. You look like hell.”

“Thank you, Tim. I had a-, um, bad night’s sleep,” he chose not to acknowledge Martin, in fear of his words giving him away.

“Oh? Did the statements scare you?” Tim made his voice sound like he was talking to a toddler, and Jon could feel his cheeks growing hot. Jon watched as Martin lifted his hand to his mouth. Was he hiding a smile?

“No, they did n-,” he stopped himself, his hands turning into fists. Tim’s grin was getting even bigger. “Anyway. Any news?”

Before either of them could answer, Sasha joined the meeting.

“Hey guys, sorry I’m late-, oh wow, Jon, are you alright?”

“I’m _fine_ , thank you, Sasha,” and he tried his best to sound light-hearted. He knew he failed miserably, as his jaw was clenched, and the words came out through his gritted teeth. “Let me remind you that we don’t do this to talk about my wellbeing, but about our shared work. So, who wants to go first?” and as he spoke, he felt like he sounded almost intimidating.

As his assistants began to speak, Jon tried his best to stay focussed. To listen to the words that were directed at him. Instead he found himself looking at Martin more often than not, trying to make out the freckles that he knew were there but were disguised by the poor picture quality.

It took him several seconds to realise that whoever had spoken had stopped, and that their chatroom was too quiet. They waited for him to say something.

“Oh! Um, yes. Yes, thank you.”

“Are you- um, are you sure you’re okay?” Martin dared to ask. Jon felt his heartbeat in his ears.

“Yeah, you seem kind of distracted. Is it because of these guns?” and as Tim talked, he lifted his arms, pulling the sleeves of his shirt further up to show off his biceps. And his triceps. And every other goddamn muscle there was.

“Good lord, no.”

“Aw, too bad,” Tim replied, pouting as his arms sank back to his sides.

Jon took a deep breath and spoke before he really thought it through.

“Actually, if you don’t mind… Would it be alright with you if we skipped the private sessions? I-, I might have found a new lead and want to utilise the next few hours.”

It was a lie, but none of them needed to know that. Anything to avoid talking to Martin. Maybe tomorrow he’d be over it. He found the others to be agreeing, even if they didn’t look convinced. He thanked them and bid them goodbye.

Part of him wanted to light a cigarette so badly, to get that kick out of the nicotine. He was glad that he didn’t have a pack at home to tempt him. Instead he did the next self-destructive thing he could think of – to lie down on his couch and think about Martin, who was completely out of reach.

\---

Jon awoke to the chime of a notification from his phone. He grumbled, confused and disoriented. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. It was five pm, and he lay curled up on the couch, his glasses still on his face. The Admiral had found a place down at his feet and was stretching himself in unison with Jon. Jon blinked a few times, rubbing at his eyes, before he finally took his phone and looked at the screen. It was a message from Martin.

_Hey, I’m sorry to bother you. Just wondering if your lead has gotten you anywhere so far :) Is there anything I can do to help?_

_Also, was there something you needed from me yesterday? We can talk about the statements anytime you like, if you feel there’s anything I need to know. It’s not like I’m really going anywhere haha_

Jon let out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding in and stared at the ceiling. Martin needed to stop being nice to him. It didn’t help his case at all.

_Thank you. No help needed._

_-JS_

He looked at the written message and considered pressing send. It was polite enough. He was even saying thank you. There was no real reason not to send it. He groaned before rewriting it.

_Thank you, Martin. No help needed at the moment. Have a good day._

_-JS_

He pressed send and chucked the phone onto the coffee table. He had enough of Martin Blackwood. He had to distract himself. He got up, as he felt an overwhelming need to revive an old hobby and went straight to the cupboard in his bedroom to look for the item in question. He returned only a few moment later, dartboard and darts in his hands. He looked around his living room to find something to remove from his walls and settled on the calendar that dated two years back. He had never bothered to take it down. It had been a Christmas present from Elias and featured different birds on each page, the current one showing an impressive peacock. He bid it goodbye and replaced the calendar with the dartboard before rearranging his furniture to have enough space.

He positioned himself in front of it before taking three steps back. It had been several years since he had thrown a dart, so he did not expect his first tries to be successful. He straightened his shoulders, unbending himself and getting in position before aiming for the bull’s eye. He hit it on his second try.

The darts gave him enough distraction for a while, and it was the hungry cries of the Admiral that made him stop eventually.

“You’ve eaten already, baby,” he spoke as he bowed down to scratch his neck. “I’ll see if I can get you a little treat.”

He picked up his phone as he went to find the bag of treats for the cat and found two new messages there. They were both from Martin.

_Okay, that’s fine! Let me know if that changes!_

_And by the way, I watched that documentary about doping in Russia that you talked about. It was really interesting!!! :) Do you have any other recommendations?_

Jon looked at his phone in confusion. When had he ever mentioned that documentary to Martin? He could not recall. He tried to decide if responding would be a good idea or not. His heart was trying to escape his chest through his mouth again. He had only just managed to not think about Martin for a bit.

_Not at the moment, I’m afraid._

Part of him wished that he did have something to suggest to Martin, to show him that he led an interesting life and made exciting choices with the media he consumed. But the truth was that he hadn’t watched anything in a few days.

He fed two treats to the Admiral before sitting down on his couch, accepting the fact that today was not a productive day. He opened his laptop to browse through Netflix. There were several new shows trending on the homepage, but they all looked frightfully trashy. As he scrolled down, he caught himself wondering what Martin would be interested in. Would he want to watch some true crime? A love story, maybe? Or something to make him laugh? A show about cooking, perhaps. Most people enjoyed watching that, right? He entered the word “food” into the search bar and clicked on the first title that caught his eye. He tried to convince himself that it was something he himself would have chosen just because it might be interesting and would perhaps even broaden his horizon. As the show started, he pretended that Martin had nothing to do with the matter. The Admiral watched him with piercing eyes.

“Oh, shush,” Jon told him as he wrapped a blanket tightly around his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has commented on this fic so far!! It makes me incredibly happy to hear your feedback <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more I have to say thanks to [my friend Anna](http://annbun.tumblr.com) who is always lovely enough to read it first and keeps me motivated to continue writing by doing so!
> 
> Also thanks to those who leave a comment or kudos 🥺 I expected to get like maybe two comments on this fic, so every time I post and there's more, I'm overwhelmed! Thank you!
> 
> Enjoy! ♥

“And were you successful?”

“Define successful,” Martin’s words were accompanied by laughter. Jon bit his inner cheeks to not smile like the biggest goof.

“Well, is it edible?” Jon asked instead, trying to disguise the joy in his voice caused by simply talking to Martin. He felt that he sounded almost harsh, which was still the better option.

“I mean, it tastes quite nice, really. It’s just a bit flat, that’s all. Wait- hold on.”

Martin disappeared from view for a few seconds before he returned, holding up a big brown lump which Jon assumed was the bread in question. Martin was in a baking craze, or so he had told him, after Jon had _accidentally_ mentioned watching _The Great British Bake Off_ two days ago. Jon wasn’t about to admit that he had been very excited to find out that it was something Martin seemed to enjoy immensely.

“Don’t mention it to Tim though. From what I’ve seen, he’s got really good at it in the last weeks. I mean, only judging by appearance of course,” and there he laughed again. It was almost too much for Jon. “I’d offer you a piece, if I could.”

Martin was smiling so honestly at Jon that he felt an urge to slam his laptop close and walk right into the sun.

“Well, uh, right, so, did you find the address I asked you about?”

_Smooth,_ he thought, kicking himself internally. Martin was just a polite colleague; he’d say nice things to literally anyone else. Nothing to freak out about. They spoke for a few more minutes before Jon thought it appropriate to end the call, and Martin was still – for the love of Christ – smiling at him.

Their conversations were definitely getting more friendly with each day – at least Jon felt that way– he was scared of the outcome. He couldn’t let Martin get too close. If Martin got too close, then he would realise that Jon was miserable and lonely and too invested in his work to have any fun and just a bad person to be around in general. He couldn’t risk any of that. He couldn’t risk letting Martin get to know him.

He walked over to his couch and sat down heavily. Paper, notes and pens were strewn across the small table in front of him, as well as the desk that he used for their online meetings. His whole apartment looked uninviting, and for a mad second, he imagined what Martin would say when he saw it. He let his head fall back against the couch, Martin’s voice pervading his thoughts.

_Quite roomy, isn’t it? But god, Jon, don’t you think you could use some more light in here? Wait, you have a balcony? That’s brilliant! You really ought to water these plants though. They look miserable._

He let his head roll to one side, looking out through the glass door of his balcony. The herbs that he had put outside were looking a bit thirsty indeed, the imaginary Martin in his head had been right. He got up with a grunt and fetched the watering can. He made sure to close the door so that the Admiral wouldn’t try to hunt any of the birds outside.

As he watched the water turn the soil into a darker colour, a gust of wind surprised him. He breathed in sharply and felt his hair smack against his face. Leaves and petals flew by him, dancing lightly, unbothered by the world being in a state of emergency. He had almost forgotten that it was spring. A beam of sunlight broke free from the clouds above, warming his face. Jon realised with a sense of shame that he hadn’t left his apartment since he went shopping for groceries a week ago. He placed the watering can onto the small iron table and leaned against the bannister, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. The wind shook him to the core, but it made him feel alive. He relished the moment and for the first time in weeks felt almost content.

The moment was soon disrupted when he heard the sound of Admiral pawing at the glass, demanding to be let out or Jon to come back in. He gave in immediately and went back inside, apologising profusely to the cat before he got back to work.

\---

Jon thought that a Saturday evening was as good a time as any to go through his music collection. It was not like he was meant to be anywhere else than his home. He still had heaps and piles of CDs from his teenage years stored in boxes and he realised that it was probably time to get rid of most of them. He didn’t actively listen to certain bands anymore, preferring the quiet most of the time. He found the majority of music to be too distracting anyway; _Classic FM_ was alright, if he wanted to listen to anything while reading. He was utterly convinced that his teenage self would disagree with him.

As he examined the content of the first box carefully, he came across several CDs with no actual album cover, instead just showcasing random words in his handwriting; some showed snippets of song lyrics, others were more informative. He found one that just had “2002 can suck my cock” scrawled upon it. Jon put that one aside to listen to it later, if he felt rebellious enough. There were several albums that he was not willing to part with – _Queen_ , _Radiohead_ and even one by _Amy Winehouse_ , an attempt by Georgie to _improve his music taste_ , he remembered. He discarded several others without really looking at them, as they did not provoke any emotional reaction. He felt like he owned a CD by every single grunge band there ever was, and it took a lot longer than he had expected to go through them all.

He sighed when he was finally finished with the first box and was just about to rummage through the second when his fingers caught the corner of what looked to be a record rather than a CD. He took it out of the box carefully, before letting his fingers brush over the worn case. It was a familiar feeling, to let his hands feel the texture, perhaps something that he had forgotten for a moment, but now coming back to him as if he had done it just yesterday. It was an album by _Fleetwood Mac_ , and it had belonged to his mother. He didn’t own a record player and was therefore unable to listen to it, even though his heart longed for the familiarity that album promised. He stood up, only then realising how much his legs and back hurt from sitting on the floor and placed the record on his desk. He felt like it deserved better than the CDs that were still spread out on his floor. He yawned and stretched, his joints popping as he did so, and looked at the pile of CDs that no longer meant anything to him. Strangely enough, he didn’t feel particularly melancholic. He had expected to, to maybe even cry from good memories, or bad ones, or any at all, but instead he felt indifferent. Had he become too apathetic in the last few weeks? Was it the lack of human contact? Or had he been that way for a while, and he just hadn’t realised?

Martin crossed his mind. He found himself wondering if the other would find anything in those piles that he’d also enjoy. His body reacted immediately. He felt excited and embarrassed, his heart thumping hard against his ribs. Martin was a stranger. He shouldn’t cross his mind that often. He shouldn’t be the one evoking feelings in him rather than his teenage memorabilia.

His fingers grazed the record once more, and he wondered if asking Martin about his music taste could help with creating a void between them, to keep himself safe. He half-convinced himself that it could, and therefore was allowed to ask him in the next meeting, before admitting to himself that it would probably do the exact opposite. He sighed. Jon really hated developing – and he barely dared thinking it – romantic feelings towards other human beings. It didn’t happen very often, and Martin was probably his worst choice so far. Of course, he was lovely, maybe even more than just that, but he was still his subordinate. Maybe it was just the isolating conditions which made him _yearn_ , just a little, for someone to be there, for someone to hold his hand or knead his shoulders after a long day, to perhaps even kiss his forehead. He gripped the edge of his desk as he daydreamed about it. Martin just happened to _be_ _there_ , accidentally, and maybe if Jon didn’t spend all of his time alone in his apartment, he wouldn’t be standing here against this table, yearning, craving, aching for a man he barely knew.

He pushed himself away from his desk and grabbed a random statement from the pile. There was no use in being upset about his feelings. But he could make better use of his time by plunging himself back into work.

\---

Tim had been drinking, Jon was nearly convinced of that. At least it would be an explanation to why he had urged him to discuss “some new promising information” with Jon on a Sunday night. Even though Tim had argued that time was an illusion, especially now, Jon had been interrupted in his work, and he was not keen on that. Especially since Tim had been talking his head off for several minutes already, and there was barely any new information at all.

“- and well, you know, I was in a flow and I thought if I don’t tell you now, I might forget so…”, Tim spun around in his swivel chair, almost losing his balance as he did so. “But anyway. It’s actually not why I called,” and there Tim seemed to focus on his screen, furrowing his brows, suddenly all ease and joy that accompanied him gone. “You should cut our boy Martin some slack. What has he ever done to you?”

Tim could’ve just as well poured a whole bucket of ice over him; the effect would have been the same. Jon knew that he must look imbecile, his mouth hanging open, but he managed to pull himself together, somehow.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You treat him like dirt! He’s really trying, you know. Honestly, Jon; he’s nice to you. Nice to all of us, and you treat him like he’s dog shit.”

“I’m; I’m not-; what has he told you?” and he knew his voice would give him away, knew that Tim would find out in an instant – find out what he really felt about Martin. He leaned in closer to his screen, eager to hear what Tim had to say.

But the other didn’t seem to notice Jon almost falling apart. He puffed and looked at him scornfully.

“He didn’t have to. We have group chats every week, Jon; I’m not deaf. He called me today and he said he was afraid that he bothered you too much when you chatted about baking; I mean, Jesus, Jon. Baking!”

“I- I didn’t- “

“And honestly, I like the bloke, and it’s not an easy situation for any of us, so I think you should just get off his back.”

“Tim, listen, I’m- “

“I mean especially Martin, he just seems so squishy and soft, and you’re all edges and harsh, and I feel the need to protect him from you, even though I know you can’t do shit, I mean judging from your posture and your tiny little arms – those noodle arms of yours – he could probably outfight you _easily_ \- ”

“Tim! That’s enough,” and it was. The other stopped talking. Jon’s face burned in shame and anger and he knew that Tim was right, and he hated himself for it.

Tim seemed to reflect upon his own words, letting them sit there between them. But still he was the first to break the silence, and his voice was no longer accusatory.

“Hey, if you need some friction, I’m here, you can use me for that. And I don’t even mean that, like, sexually. This time, at least,” and of course, he winked there, the old Tim returned to mock him. It made Jon snort. “But don’t let it all out on Martin, alright?”

For a wicked moment, Jon considered pouring his heart out to Tim. To tell him about whatever it was that his heart was developing. Of course, he knew it wasn’t really his heart, but rather the limbic system of his brain that was causing him all this trouble. He decided against it.

“I just don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

“What, that you’re actually a human being? That you care? He’ll find out eventually, Jon. I know it can be hard to reveal yourself to others but if you want Martin to have some respect for you...”, Tim trailed off, but Jon understood.

“I don’t see you having troubles revealing yourself, though.”

Tim shrugged, but the smirk on his face felt fake all of a sudden, plastic. Jon wanted to dig deeper, to find out what parts of Tim he had yet to discover, to conveniently distract from himself in the process. He had known the man for several years and their collegial relationship had developed into this odd friendship, but he had never been as close to Tim as Sasha. So maybe he didn’t know him as well as he had thought. Jon considered him for a few moments.

“Well, I don’t have _noodle arms_ , just so we’re clear about that. Whatever that is.”

Tim smiled in earnest now, and Jon found himself to be relieved. He had been right, Jon did care. He cared too much sometimes, which often resulted in him withdrawing completely, or lashing out. He permitted himself to smile back.

“You know what, Jon? When this is over, we have to go for a pint. I won’t take no for an answer. We’ll get blackout drunk and cause some trouble, huh? Just us,” Tim seemed to consider what he had said and then changed his mind. “Ah, fuck it, Martin and Sasha can come too if they want.”

Jon restrained himself from rolling his eyes, and instead sighed, already regretting what he was about to say.

“I wouldn’t completely hate that, I suppose. Just leave out the part about causing trouble.”

“You’re boring,” Tim said, and Jon saw him taking a sip from a margarita glass. “Well, my lecture is over. I expect your five thousand words essay by next Friday. Bye, boss!”

And with that, Tim blew him a kiss and left their video call and left Jon to his own thoughts and feelings. What a cruel thing to do.

\---

“Oh, uh, hey there, Jon! I’m- I’m sorry, I guess I lost track of time.”

“It’s… it’s not a problem.”

Martin was wearing what appeared to be an apron and was hastily wiping his hands clean on a colourful cloth. Jon hated to admit it, but he looked rather charming.

“I meant to do that in the evening, but then I figured… You- you said you don’t mind when we do our work, and, well…,” he trailed off and Jon noticed something that looked like flour stuck to Martin’s cheek.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jon heard himself saying, as he felt like he was in a trance and his mouth was creating words on autopilot. “Uh, what are you making? More bread?”

Martin’s face lit up at once and Jon watched as he appeared to take his laptop into his hands. All of a sudden, Martin’s face was closer than ever before, and Jon watched the screen eagerly as Martin walked into another part of his apartment – or house, Jon had no way of knowing where he lived at the moment.

“Look at this beauty!” Martin said and there was pride in his voice. The view changed to the content of Martin’s oven, and Jon looked at what seemed to be a cake tin, dark batter already rising over the edges.

“What, you made a cake?”

“Yes! I’ve never made one in my life! I was about to fight this elderly man at the grocery store last Friday; he was hoarding all the flour,” there was a pause, and Jon watched as Martin spun his laptop around and started walking back to what Jon assumed was his work area. “I mean, not really. I didn’t really consider fighting an elderly man.”

Jon couldn’t help himself – he smiled at the thought, and Martin returned it instantly.

“Well, what kind of cake is it?” he asked, trying to distract himself from the turmoil that was suddenly occurring inside his chest.

“Chocolate! I know, I know, that’s pretty basic, but it’s my first try so-”

“I like chocolate cake.”

Martin raised his eyebrows at that, and Jon furrowed his in response.

“What? I do like sweet things every now and then.”

“Alright, okay, sure.” Martin didn’t seem entirely convinced just yet but didn’t demand any further proof from Jon. He didn’t seem to want to end their conversation about it all too soon, either. “Well, I mean it was probably a bad idea anyway, to make an entire cake when I’m just on my own, but I just felt like it and I haven’t had cake in weeks and it’s just a bit of a comfort food, really, and I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this, I’m sorry.”

Jon watched Martin’s ears turn red, a sight that started to become familiar to him, and there was no use in denying that he found it to be absolutely endearing. His instincts told him to change the subject, to not react to his words, because it was getting dangerously close to talking about _feelings_ , and that was utterly terrifying. But then his conversation with Tim crossed his mind again.

“It’s alright, Martin, please. I don’t mind.”

The other smiled at him gratefully, before he jumped suddenly, startling Jon as well.

“The cake!” he shouted, and the way he said it was so absolutely comical to Jon that it actually made him chuckle. He watched as Martin dashed out of view, and soon heard him exclaiming faintly.

“It’s only a little burned! It’s fine!” Martin called, and he returned soon enough, his face red, and it was only then that he seemed to realise that he was still wearing the apron. He gave a small expression of surprise, before taking it off and looking back at the screen sheepishly. “Sorry. Again. Um, so, do you actually want to hear my work report…?”

“Oh! Um, yes, right, of course, uh,” Jon spluttered, embarrassed by the fact that he had been talking to Martin all this time without thinking about the reason he had called him. “Please. Go ahead.”

Jon watched as Martin talked, talked with not only his words but with his hands, gesticulating to emphasise what he deemed important. He watched Martin’s hands, as they scratched nervously at his neck, as they adjusted his glasses, as his fingers touched his lips absently. It made him wonder. What skills were they familiar with? Could they cut vegetables quickly, or hold a paintbrush steadily? Would they awaken on an instrument, on a guitar, a keyboard or a saxophone? Would they feel rough against his skin, like sandpaper, from work yet unknown, or smooth, like a marble surface? Would they squeeze his hand if he ever dared to take it?

He somehow managed to compose himself enough to focus on what Martin was saying, and even succeeded in replying like a normal human being. Too soon, everything that had to be said was spoken and Jon found himself grasping at straws to keep the conversation going. It was quite the opposite of what he had wanted to do not so long ago. He was still concentrating and trying to think of a topic, of a question to ask Martin that wasn’t too obvious but would satisfy his need to get to know him better. Obviously, he wasn’t going to act on his feelings, maybe ever. But it was his responsibility to get to know his co-workers after all.

Martin however must have interpreted his tense expression differently.

“I shouldn’t bother you any longer, really. I mean, you’re really busy and yet here I am! Keeping you from work,” Martin laughed, and he sounded apologetic once again. Jon wondered if it was him that kept Martin from more important things. Martin was probably already getting sick of Jon and tried to disguise it by making it about him. That seemed like a thing Martin would do.

“Oh. Yes. Well, thank you for the report, Martin. And, uh, enjoy the cake.”

Martin downright beamed at him, and Jon started to feel a little dizzy. He had said too much. He had definitely said too much.

“Th-thanks, Jon. Ah, I wish you a good day!”

Jon pressed the disconnect button before he could embarrass himself any further. Why was everything he said so awkward? The admiral leaped onto his lap, and Jon was appreciative of the calming effects of his presence.

“Oh, Admiral. We’re really in it now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music! Baking! AHh!
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this chapter even though I took some liberties with music tastes and whatnot. As always, I'd love to hear your feedback on it, you can also [find me on tumblr!](http://imbekkable.tumblr.com) :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This chapter is very (and I mean very) dialogue-heavy and full of banter, so this is just a heads-up for those of you who don't enjoy that.
> 
> I hope you do, anyway :)

“I’m shaving it off.”

“Have you really thought this through, Tim? I mean, I know, it’s just hair but- “

“I don’t give a flying fuck; I’m shaving it off.”

Martin flinched as heard the buzzing sound of an electric razor being turned on. There was nothing else to do but watch with a mixture of horror and excitement.

“What, you’re going to do it _now_?” he heard Sasha continue, her voice inching closer to a shriek, but Tim was already lifting the device up to his head.

“Oh yeah! More fun that way,” and as Tim spoke, he let the razor glide over the right side of the top of his head, and Martin watched the dark hair fall as if it was nothing to Tim.

“Is that really the only reason you made us have this conversation?“ Martin heard Jon ask, but it lacked any real annoyance. It was a Wednesday afternoon, so Martin could see Jon feeling disrupted in his usual schedule.

“I think we could all use a little bonding time, don’t you agree, boss?” and as Tim talked, he continued shaving off his hair, one side of his head already partially bald. Martin watched in awe. It was a thing of beauty, in a strange way. Cathartic even. It reminded him of those _Oddly Satisfying_ clips he sometimes found himself watching unintentionally. Tim turned his head, his gaze falling upon something that was out of view, and he started laughing.

“Damn, my head has a weird shape. Doesn’t it?”

He went straight over the middle of his head now and readjusted the towel on his shoulders. Martin stole a glance at Jon.

Jon didn’t look as upset as he had expected. It almost looked like he was… smiling? Martin felt his face grow warm in affection. The moments he had caught Jon smiling were still few, but each time he counted himself lucky when he got to be part of it.

“You should have told us earlier; I would have prepared myself a snack,” Jon’s face was starting to look almost smug as he spoke. Martin considered taking off his jumper. Or opening a window maybe. The temperatures in his living room were definitely increasing. Was his heating acting up again?

“Oh, don’t worry, Jon. I’m about to become the tastiest snack ever.”

Jon’s smile disappeared immediately, instead he was rolling his eyes at Tim’s remark. Sasha groaned before responding to Tim.

“You are the worst sometimes; do you know that? I feel like we shouldn’t give you all this attention. I feel like I have to give you some training, like my dog. Even she knows how to behave.”

“Is that so? Are you going to put me on a leash and-“

“Tim!” they all shouted in unison, but there was no real heat in their voices. They knew that Tim enjoyed riling them up but would never actually overstep. He would try to make them a little uncomfortable, but Martin trusted him to stop before taking it too far. And from the information that Martin had gathered, he knew he could go a little further with Sasha.

“Alright! I’m sorry!” he held up his hands defensively, before looking again at what Martin assumed to be a mirror. “I do look fit though, you’ve got to admit that.”

Martin couldn’t help but chuckle, as there were still patches of hair left on Tim’s head, making him look whacky. Tim was now turning his back towards them, as there was still a bunch of hair left at the back of his head.

“Guide me through it, everyone.”

It took about fifteen more minutes until Tim seemed to be satisfied with his look, and for a moment full of chaos, he joked about shaving off his eyebrows as well. They all seemed to be glad that he changed his mind in time. Martin could barely believe that Tim still managed to look absolutely fantastic, even with a shaved head. If he would try that, he would probably end up looking like a potato. Tim had been right though, it had been fun to watch him do it, and even though they mostly groaned at his words when he spoke, there were moments of laughter too.

“So, Martin, are you still up for some ass kicking later?” Tim asked, his hands still gliding over his shaved head.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, I meant… Sorry, I mean in _Mario Kart_ , you know. Just you, me and my girl Isabelle. And whatever loser you’re choosing, I guess,” he looked at his fingernail casually. “You won’t stand a chance.”

“Well, you don’t know what you’ve got yourself into,” Martin tried to match Tim’s smugness, but was convinced that he was not successful.

“I don’t mean to sound rude, but don’t you have better things to do than playing video games?” Jon interjected, and Martin felt embarrassed immediately, any smugness he had gained leaving his body at once.

“Well, sorry we can’t all become world class champions at playing _darts_ ,” Tim answered with a mischievous grin.

“How did you-? Sasha!”

“I’m sorry! It just slipped out!” Sasha hid her face behind her hands, stealing glances back at her screen carefully. “But it’s not really something to be embarrassed by, is it? I mean it’s rather cool, Jon! Right? To have a hobby you’re passionate about?”

Martin’s thoughts whirled while processing this new information. Jon made a face full of frustration, pursing his lips, narrowing his eyes. He looked adorable.

“Well, enjoy your video games. And please try to remain intact while, ah, _kicking_ each other. I still need you to be functional; we’re not on holiday.”

“Wait, what? We’re not? Thank you so much for reminding me, I completely forgot,” Tim deadpanned, and Jon’s face grew even gloomier. Martin didn’t really know how to react to any of that.

“Ah, thanks? You enjoy your... darts?” he tried, but even while talking he knew it must sound horrible. Something in Jon’s face shifted, but it was an expression Martin could not decipher.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Jon disconnected from their call, leaving them to their own devices.

“Does Jon seem a bit… I don’t know, _weird_ lately?” Sasha adjusted her glasses as she spoke to them. “I mean – weirder than usual? Is it just me?”

“Well, I might have had a, ah, nice chat with him actually,” Tim said, now collecting the tufts of hair he was surrounded by. “I mean, he was weird before that too, so I don’t-, I don’t really want to- hm, no, I really don’t think it has anything to do with it, actually. But I was a bit shit-faced, so could be wrong, I don’t know.”

“Would you care to enlighten us?” she asked, one eyebrow raised with a sense of foreboding.

“Ah, well,” Tim actually seemed a bit flustered now, which was quite an unusual sight. “I might have told him to stop being a dick to Martin.”

“You-? You did-? Wait, what?” Martin could barely believe Tim’s words, and hated the way his voice became high-pitched.

“I mean come on, Martin, just trying to protect you here! I wanted to help out!”

“I-, I can protect myself just fine, thank you very much! Why would you even say- god, he must think even less of me now. _Weak Martin_! Can’t even stand up for himself! Really, Tim, what were you _thinking_?”

“I’m sorry! It really- it didn’t come off as that, I promise. I think I might have insulted his arms though.”

“Oh yeah, noodle arms,” Sasha said, nodding understandably.

“ _Thank you_ , Sash. But anyway, it was like… _days_ ago, it’s not even- not even relevant, really.”

“Of course, it is! You should have told me! That’s, oh god, that’s why he’s letting me talk his ear off now, isn’t it? It’s because he’s _scared_ of you.”

Martin realised with horror that all those small moments in the last few days, all those times he thought he might be able to make a connection – they’d been motivated by fear, not anything else.

“I mean, to be fair, I get it. Had the urge to do the same, really,” Sasha interjected, and she didn’t seem apologetic about it either.

“What, no! Sasha! I can’t _believe_ either of you!”

“Well, we saw you suffering. And we like you! I mean, I don’t want to talk for Tim, but at least I do,” Martin felt his insides grow pleasantly warm, despite the anger towards them. Tim nodded at Sasha’s words. “And it’s about time for Jon to realise that you’re a good bloke.”

“You can’t force him to like me, that’s not how it works!” Martin replied, exasperated.

“Well, he’s an idiot who needs a nudge in the right direction sometimes, I feel like. It’s just wasted time otherwise,” Sasha continued to argue.

Tim’s eyes were dangerously narrowed, as he seemed to consider something while the other two talked.

“What is it, Tim?” Martin barked at him.

“Why does this bother you so much, Martin?”

Martin shut his lips quickly, feeling his heart sink into a bottomless pit for a second, only to return with even more force, thumping so fast in his chest that it almost hurt. His thoughts were not simply racing but performing a whole triathlon in his head, searching for an excuse. However, each and every one of them seemed to fall on its face, beaten, useless.

“It’s not-, I mean, he-,” he grasped for words, desperately. “He’s- he’s our boss. I want him to- I need-; I would like him to respect me.”

He settled on that, feeling defeated and vulnerable. It wasn’t a lie, technically.

“Ah. Right,” Tim said, but there was something in his voice that made Martin utterly terrified. “Sure. Respect, yes, very important.”

“Tim,” Sasha’s voice sounded like a warning. Martin felt the blood drain from his face.

They knew.

They knew they knew they knew.

How could he let that happen? They knew and they were either going to despise him for it or laugh at him or, worst of all: tell Jon. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He had meant to keep it inside, to let the feelings eat him up until there was nothing left of him. Until either the feelings or he himself ceased to exist.

“Can we not- I don’t… Ahh, fine. Fine!” there was no use in denying it now. He sighed heavily. The others were looking at him expectantly; Tim seemed to be at the literal edge of his seat. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this. I- I might- I might have a bit of a crush on Jon?”

Martin watched as Sasha’s face lit up with the warmest smile, and Tim threw the hair he had gathered into the air like confetti while squealing like a little child.

“Oh, my dearest Martin, if only- oh wow, I really shouldn’t have done that,” Tim spluttered, wiping at his face frantically. “Oh god, it’s, it’s everywhere now, why did I _do_ that?“

“Martin, I just wanted to say, you have my full support, and I respect your choice completely.“

“- and it’s in my joggers now, oh god, oh - anyway - Martin! We have to celebrate!”

“-I mean, it’s a bit of bold choice, isn’t it? But then again, I get it, I mean-“

“An office romance! A virtual one, surely, but still, that’s exciting! “

“Oh, hey, wow, that’s- it’s not a _romance_ , I mean he practically hates me and has yet to meet me in person, so-,” he let his thoughts wander, encouraged by the word, to impossible scenarios. Jon’s eyes meeting his, a glance far too meaningful. Jon’s hand brushing against his while handing him a statement, only to notice him linger there for a moment too long. Jon’s lips finding his own, after pulling him into the empty breakroom. Martin pushing him onto his desk, desperately, his mouth on Jon’s neck, on his collarbone, fingers fumbling, buttons being opened.

_Oh._

The others must have noticed him drifting off, as they were both grinning at him wickedly when he finally managed to focus back on them. He blushed so hard that he hid his face behind his hands. “Stop it! I’m still mad at both of you by the way.”

“Do you want us to, like, help you out?” Sasha suggested. “We could drop some love-inducing facts about you. We could tell Jon that you’ve saved a kitten from a burning building once. Or that you, hm, I don’t know, what would Jon be into?”

“I think the best option would be to just become the most boring version of yourself, Martin. That might make him fancy you,” Tim nodded, stroking an invisible beard in the process.

“I think you’ve done enough in that aspect already, thank you very much,” Martin said, and he let the sarcasm bleed into his words. “I’d appreciate it if you maybe left the matter alone.”

Sasha didn’t seem to listen, instead she was typing away on her laptop. “Um, so- I just found out that Jon’s actually twenty-seven.”

“What?” Martin shouted in unison with Tim.

“No way, he- he’s lied to us?” Tim asked indignantly, putting his hand on his chest in shock.

“Are you sure? Where did you-? _How_ do you know that?” Martin could barely believe it. It made him feel quite giddy inside.

“Oh, you can trust me, it’s true. Wasn’t such a bad researcher after all,” Sasha said, smirking a little, but still concentrating on whatever details she had found just by simply googling, Martin assumed.

“So young, yet so bitter. Hold on, does that make Martin the cougar? Would have never thought you had it in you, to be honest.”

“I’m not a _cougar_ ,” Martin replied before he could stop himself, knowing that Tim would only relish his reaction. He had to be more careful, he couldn’t allow himself to accidentally reveal his age to them too. They already knew more than enough. “Just-, just promise me you won’t tell him, please. It would be so humiliating and it’s unprofessional enough as it is.”

“Of course, Martin,” Martin could not remember a time Tim had ever looked so serious.

“You can trust us. Well, Tim not so much. You can trust _me_ ,” Sasha, putting a hand on her heart, as Tim gasped in mock offence.

“Well, anyway, that was fun,” Tim clasped his hands together as he spoke. “Remind me to never trust Jon again, ever. Sasha, knock yourself out, and please, _please_ , share any embarrassing stories you find about the boss man. But Martin and I still have some other plans for the evening.”

“Huh? Oh, right,” with everything that had just happened, Martin had forgotten about the fact that Tim still wanted to play _Mario Kart_. “Right. Well, even more reasons to kick _your_ ass now.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Tim raised his fists in front of his face like a boxer and looked almost intimidating with his new look. They bid each other goodbye, and Martin wondered. Why did they care about him? And why was it so hard to stay mad at them?

They were troublesome and silly, especially Tim, but they didn’t mean any harm by their actions. They supported Martin and wanted to spend time with him, voluntarily. They even suggested helping him with his love life. Martin had spent so much time on his own, struggling to make meaningful connections, or instead spending a lot of time with his mother.

He wondered if he had accidentally made two new friends in the last weeks as he turned on the console. Two wonderful, irritating, actual friends.

Jon was twenty-seven. It did not change anything about his entire situation, strictly speaking, and yet it felt like it did. They were the same age. Jon was his age and Tim and Sasha were his friends and the entire world was in a state of emergency, yet he couldn’t help himself but smile.

\---

“Martin? What is it, why are you calling?”

Martin had gathered every bit of courage left in him to call Jon, even though it was late, even though it was not very professional. But it was not the first time they had spoken, in some way or other, after work-hours – so Martin wasn’t going to start bothering about it now. He wanted to settle the misunderstanding. Even though he _loved_ talking to Jon, he didn’t want him to feel forced doing it. He was also still vibrating from the adrenaline after playing video games with Tim for a full hour.

“Hey, Jon. Um, Tim mentioned something to me earlier and I-, I just want to make sure that-, I want to talk to you about it,” he felt himself getting nervous. Jon’s image appeared to be frozen, and Martin cursed the fact that they had to talk over a video chat once again.

“Alright. What is it?”

“Oh! You’re still here, alright, brilliant, cool. Um, so, he said something about telling you off? For not, um, well. For treating me like-, ah-“

“For treating you as vermin?” Jon suggested, and then sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. “Look, Martin-“

“No, Jon, it’s alright, I just- just wanted to say that… You don’t have to feel obligated to talk to me. I really don’t-,” this time, Martin sighed, urging his heart to calm down, begging his voice not to crack. “I don’t want you to talk to me because of what Tim has said. That- that’s just not- that’s not what I want.”

Jon was still, and Martin wondered once more if it was due to his words or the internet connection. He wished he could talk to him directly, to read his body language, to get his point across.

“Right. I won’t talk to you, except for, well, everything work-related. I understand,” Jon said, his demeanour stern, reminding Martin of the first few times they had talked, already a month ago. It was setting them back to where they started.

“It’s just- I mean, Tim’s-“

“No, you don’t have to explain, Martin. I understand. Goodnight.”

“Oh! Alright, um. Goodnight, Jon.”

Jon ended the call, and Martin couldn’t bring himself to move, staring unblinking at his screen, oblivious of anything it showed.

He felt a lump in his throat. It had been the right thing to do, but it was hard to convince himself of that. It just showed him the harsh reality of the situation. Jon was probably glad to get out of it, to go back to their work-appropriate relationship, no longer in fear of Tim bothering him about any of it.

A single, hot tear fell from his eye before he could stop it. He furiously tried to wipe it away but even more followed suit, relentlessly. A sob escaped him, and he couldn’t hold back any longer, burying his face into his hands as the tears fell and fell and fell. Everything felt too heavy, too much. If he hadn’t said anything to Jon, he wouldn’t be in this situation – he could pretend that Jon enjoyed his company, that they were getting closer to something like a friendship, even.

He barely managed to stand up, dragging himself into his bedroom to crawl onto his bed and underneath his blanket. It was childish. He was a grown man, and so was Jon, and he was overreacting, but Jon’s voice had been so bloody cold that just the thought of it made him shiver. Nobody was going to see him cry here, underneath the covers. And so, he allowed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you've enjoyed this new chapter! As always, I fall in love instantly with everyone who leaves a comment so please do!! (I'm kidding... unless?? No seriously, I do love to hear your thoughts on it!! <3)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am, once again (updating on a Wednesday)
> 
> Can't deny can't pretend (hoping you'll enjoy this one too)

So, Martin hated him.

Jon was falling for a man who had got so annoyed by talking to him that he had basically told Jon to shut up.

Which was fair, it was understandable. Jon hadn’t _really_ believed Martin to enjoy the time they spent talking with each other, had he? But no, if he was entirely honest to himself, he really had believed it. He had allowed himself to become absorbed in the warmth of Martin’s smile and had believed it to be genuine. He had even believed himself to be the cause of it at times. He had been foolish enough to suppress the fact that Martin was probably being nice to him because he was his boss.

_I don’t want you to talk to me._

It didn’t hurt. It couldn’t hurt. Those were mere words; they weren’t able to cause him pain.

_That’s not what I want._

Except that they did hurt, like someone had slashed him across his chest and he couldn’t find a way to stop the bleeding.

Part of him wanted to call Martin, to shout at him, but Jon didn’t know what he would say. _How dare you making me fall for you? How dare you getting my hopes up? Don’t you know that I daydream about you? That I wish to be nowhere else but with you, beside you, in your arms?_

It was for the better, Jon tried to convince himself. They could both profit from the situation, to remain productive and not get distracted by each other. It was their job; they weren’t there to make friends.

But the others were friends. Sasha and Tim had been friends for as long as Jon had known them and Martin… Martin appeared to get along with them perfectly fine. Tim and Martin even spent their leisure time with each other, playing games and whatnot. The thought of it did something to Jon’s insides that was not pleasant at all.

These thoughts had plagued him for over a week now, and he once again had trouble sleeping, instead replaying his conversation with Martin over and over, picking it apart although there wasn’t much to work with, until his head started aching. It was Friday, a glimmer of hope for Jon, as it meant that the two days without mandatory calls with his assistants were lying ahead. He had managed to keep their last conversations brief and had barely spoken to Martin at all, had refrained from any work-unrelated calls or games or whatever his assistants were up to. He only had to survive today and would be granted a bit of freedom, a bit of time where he wouldn’t have to dread the next call immediately.

He decided to call Sasha first. Tim was still making him furious, _especially_ since he had started talking about Martin more often than not. _Did you know that Martin has the biggest selection of tea I’ve ever seen? Have you heard that Martin went shopping for even more elderly people in his residential building today? Did you see him bake that French loaf the other day?_ It was as if Tim was making him mad on purpose.

And Martin… he would try to delay having to talk to Martin for as long as he could. Sasha was reliable and professional. She had been making some worrying remarks about his age, which was a bit strange, but still nothing compared to Tim. He wasn’t going to elaborate on it until she forced him to. And even though she had done that, she wouldn’t bother him with unnecessary questions or give him a lecture, he was sure of that.

“Hey, Jon. How are you?”

“Oh, um. Could be better,” he found himself saying, even though he hadn’t intended to mention his state to her. He had done so well the days before, but now he was already off to a bad start.

“Is that so? How come?” she asked, apparently genuinely interested in his well-being.

“It’s- it’s nothing, really. Not even worth mentioning.”

He scarcely managed to deflect her questions, and by the time they finally started talking about work, Sasha was looking at him quite suspiciously. She didn’t press the issue, and as they were discussing their current statement, Jon even managed to take his mind off of Martin and focus on work instead. He was about to end the call when Sasha spoke up once more.

“So, Jon. I’m curious. What’s going on with you and Martin? I’ve heard you and Tim had a nice conversation about him a bit ago and things just went somewhat south?”

“I’m- how-” Jon felt himself getting flustered and tried his best to hide it. “Why is my goddamn conversation with Tim any concern to you? I really don’t see the point in talking about this, Sasha.” He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, really. It was simply starting to become his default state as soon as someone made him talk about Martin.

“Come on, we’re so _bored_ , what do you expect us to do? And I’m usually not one for office gossip, but even I find myself to be short of anything interesting to talk about.”

“How does this even qualify as _office gossip_? Tim didn’t really appreciate the way I talked to Martin. So, I’ve tried to improve the way I talk to Martin and now he doesn’t want to talk to me at all. End of story,” he meant to disguise the hurt in his voice. He meant to remain calm and talk to Sasha about work and nothing but work. But it was such a burden to be in pain and have no one to share his thoughts with, so it probably shouldn’t come as such a surprise that it was all about to spill out of him now. He sighed heavily and permitted his eyes to close for a second. “It’s- it’s nothing, as I said. It’s nothing.”

“Right. I don’t know where you’ve got the idea from that Martin doesn’t want to talk to you. I don’t think that’s the case at all.”

“Oh, really? And how would you know anything about that?” he bit back, knowing he must sound snappish. He felt like a child, acting through his emotions without giving them the time to be rationalised. It was a feeble attempt to try and blame the isolation.

“I-” Sasha paused, and Jon watched her taking a deep breath before she shrugged. “I really don’t know anything. Just- maybe try to talk to him?”

“I’m starting to get really tired of my _assistants_ telling me how to interact with people,” he retorted, but Sasha stood her ground.

“Well, I think your _assistants_ could be your friends sometimes, too. If you only let us, Jon. So, I’m trying to tell you this, as your friend. Talk to Martin. He’s been a bit upset lately.”

“A bit up-? How- He shouldn’t- _I_ should be the one who’s upset! How _dare_ he- “

“Oh, don’t worry, Jon. You’re clearly upset, too. So, congratulations to both of you, well done, great job,” she even clapped her hands there, accentuating her words. “Just _talk_ to each other, god.”

“I’ll talk to him alright,” Jon replied, furiously. “He has _no_ right-“

“Alright, Jon. God, I wish I could just- No. You’ve got to figure it out on your own,” her words were barely more than a murmur and Jon was still so agitated that he didn’t really pay them any attention.

“Well, have a nice day, Sasha,” he told her, so forcefully that it almost sounded like a threat. She bid him goodbye, shaking her head slightly, a small smile on her face, nonetheless.

Jon was on the brink of calling Martin before he decided to give Tim a call first. To get it out of the way, and maybe even find more reasons to be upset. What a cheek it was, for Martin to be upset about something he had caused himself. Was he trying to play the victim, so that Sasha and Tim would side with him and against Jon? Was it all part of a grand scheme? His mind was racing with thoughts, still, even as Tim joined his call.

“Oh wow, boss, you look as lovely as ever,” Tim’s words were full of sarcasm, and he even had the audacity to wink at him.

“Cut it out, Tim. I want you to give me something useful or leave it be.”

“Oh, feisty today, are we? I like it,” Jon could feel the anger in him rising, but before he could interject, Tim started talking. Jon didn’t give him many chances for ambiguous remarks and therefore found their conversation to go quite smoothly, despite his fury. He wished Tim a good day before the other could start with any nagging questions of his own. A small wave of relief washed over him, but the feeling was soon replaced by anguish and rage once more.

He stood up from his desk and walked from one part of his apartment to another. The Admiral was lying on his couch and Jon registered him as he lifted his head, curious to see if Jon was up to anything interesting. He walked over to him, putting his hand on his incredibly soft fur and felt himself calm down slightly. But it was no use to delay it any further. He walked back to his laptop and called Martin.

“Hello, Jon, how-“

“Why are _you_ upset, Martin, huh? How is that fair?”

Martin looked rather taken aback by his words. Jon pretended it didn’t bother him.

“I’m- what are you talking about, Jon?”

“Sasha said-” he stopped himself there, realising how much he sounded like a child. His emotions were at the forefront, overtaking him, and it was neither professional nor very likeable of him to do so. He tried again. “Sasha _informed_ me that you seemed a bit, ah, _disconcerted_ and I’d rather you- I would like you to illustrate the reason to me, since I’m having trouble understanding.”

Martin looked affronted, and Jon could not for the life of him understand why.

“Well, of course I’m upset! You-” Martin stopped and leaned back, not looking at his screen, closing his eyes. Jon wondered what he felt and why. He wished he could read his mind. Martin sighed, his hands in his hair, before he leaned forward, closer to his screen, and Jon wanted to be there, right in front of him, not having to talk through an app on his ruddy laptop. Martin didn’t look at the screen, but at his camera instead. It made Jon feel so utterly seen, it was terrifying.

“Look, Jon, I’m just- I’m frustrated. I know that you don’t want to talk to me, really, and that’s fine, I mean, I get it, but I- I started to enjoy our conversations and now you’re just so _hostile_ and it _hurts_ , and it’s- I’m not saying- I mean- I really don’t know how to act when we talk, I’m always afraid of annoying you with everything I say and it’s just so _difficult_ for me.”

There Martin returned his gaze to his screen, looking at Jon, he assumed. Jon was still busy processing his words.

“So, what you’re saying is that you _do_ want us to talk – about more than work, I mean,” Jon tried, although it did not make any sense to him at all.

“Yes, Jon! Obviously, I enjoy talking to you.”

“But you said that- You said that you don’t want me to-” he felt his face grow warm as a feeling in his chest expanded, a small thing at first, spreading out. “That’s- I remember you saying that… You said that you don’t want me to talk to you, Martin! It’s what you’ve said!”

“For Tim’s sake! I didn’t want you to talk to me because of that stupid conversation you had with him, I thought you might feel forced to do so and were just too scared of him to-” Martin grew more exasperated with every word he said, but then stopped himself suddenly. “Hold on, are you saying you- you don’t hate us talking? Did we- did we-“

Jon took his glasses off forcefully and chucked them onto his desk. He buried his face into his hands, too embarrassed to look at Martin. And then he started laughing. The gigantic weight that had dragged him down for an entire week was crumbling to bits. He looked at Martin, who seemed distressed still, but was starting to figure it out. Jon couldn’t stop smiling.

“Martin.”

“It- it was a misunderstanding, wasn’t it? We’re- we’ve just assumed that the other- Oh, god, Jon, I’m so sorry,” Martin’s voice was almost pleading. “I- I really thought you were done with- I mean, I should have figured it out, but I just- I just didn’t.”

“No, no, I should be the one apologising, Martin, really,” Jon shook his head, barely believing his own foolishness. Martin enjoyed talking to him. He _enjoyed_ talking to _him_. The thought of it was dancing through his mind, unstoppable, tearing every toxic idea down as if it was nothing. Martin finally dared to give a tentative smile. Oh, how much Jon had missed it, had yearned for the moment to see it again.

“Well, I’d say we’re even!” and then Martin laughed in earnest and Jon wouldn’t have been surprised if he had turned into a liquid right there, as his body felt boneless. In fact, he was surprised to find himself still solid.

“Let’s just pretend this never happened, shall we?” Jon suggested as the smile on his face was starting to hurt his cheeks.

“Yes, that’s a brilliant idea,” Martin replied, as Jon put his glasses back on. “So- how are you, Jon?”

“Good! Great! Better now,” Jon’s words were out of his mouth, and as he realised how they must sound to Martin, it was already too late to take them back. Martin’s ears turned the loveliest shade of pink. “Um, how about you?” It was but feeble attempt to distract from himself.

“Oh, um, me too, actually,” Martin’s words released such delight in him that Jon feared his face to lay bare all his feelings. “And how’s the Admiral?”

Jon found himself to appreciate Martin’s interest in the cat more than he’d like to admit.

“He’s such a lazy boy, probably sleeping. Do you want to see him?”

“I’d love that, yes!”

Jon made sure to pull the plug before getting up and walking towards the couch, laptop in his hands. The Admiral greeted him with a trill and Jon put the laptop down on his coffee table, hoping that Martin would have a satisfactory view.

“Look, Admiral, that’s Martin! That’s him right there! Say hello!”

Jon pet the cat sufficiently, and he thanked him by rolling on his back, letting him stroke his belly as well.

“He’s a bit shy with new people,” Jon explained, continuously stroking the cat. “But I’m sure he’d be all over you if you ever met him.”

“I think I’d like that,” Jon knew Martin was smiling just by the sound of his voice and looked back at the screen to indulge in the moment.

He couldn’t believe he had missed an entire week of this, of _Martin_ , simply because they miscommunicated. How could he have been so dull? But it had all made a lot of sense to him, that Martin was actually just talking to him out of obligation, and maybe Martin had assumed the same. It was quite ridiculous in retrospect, but he tried not to dwell on it. Instead he did his best to keep Martin talking, to keep the conversation going, only to remember that there were also work-related things to discuss. But even the statements were exciting, for the first time in a week, and Jon didn’t even try to pretend that it wasn’t because he was talking about them to Martin.

\---

Jon had to calm the hell down.

He was forgetting himself, was forgetting the fact that Martin was still his assistant, first and foremost. He had been so excited and relieved by the fact that they were finally talking again that he had – maybe accidentally – agreed to stream a film with Martin. What was he thinking? That Martin was now going to fall in love with him all of a sudden, after he had been such a dick to him for a week?

No, Martin was just being nice again. And that seemed to be his nature, to be caring and friendly and warm. And Jon was just lucky that he got to benefit from that sweet disposition of his, as a _friend_. He had to calm down or he was going to screw it up again, this time by letting his feelings for Martin, growing stronger still, get in the way of their newly found friendship.

But maybe that was simply a thing friends did, to stream a film together. He had no idea. It wasn’t a _date_ or anything, although the word kept coming back to him, like bass from a speaker, vibrating through him and shaking him to his core.

He was standing in front of his wardrobe after taking a shower and tried to pick something to wear for the evening, knowing it might be too much, to change his outfit even though Martin had just seen him a few hours ago. But he wanted to make an effort. Even if Martin chose to wear pyjamas, he still wanted to show him that he cared enough to make himself look presentable. It was the least he could do, as his boss. As his friend.

A tie would be too much. It had been weeks since he wore one, and it would feel too formal now. He had worn a simple olive-green shirt earlier, so maybe something casual would be more fitting. A T-shirt, perhaps? Although it was still not that warm in his flat – maybe a jumper would be the right choice after all. It took him significantly longer than he would have cared to admit to finally choose the outfit for the evening, before he hurried into the bathroom to brush his hair, which really, _really_ needed a cut at this point. He even considered putting it back into a bun for a moment, but refrained from it, fearing it might make him look like he was trying too hard.

A film night on a Friday evening with Martin. He wished, more than anything, to not do such a thing over Zoom, but felt the excitement washing over him in waves all the same. He could barely believe that a few hours ago, he had still believed Martin to loathe him. He was trying to come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t even now, that he actually wanted to spend time with Jon. It was an astonishing thing to him.

He looked at his reflection one last time before deeming it decent and went to fetch his laptop as well as his earphones before sitting down on his couch. The Admiral jumped onto his lap as soon as he did so, but Jon barely took any notice of him, absentmindedly raking his fingers through his fur with one hand while opening his laptop with the other. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm his heart down with little to no success. He was still nervous when he pressed the call button. Martin answered instantly.

“Hi, Jon! Oh, you- you look, ah, really nice.”

Jon wasn’t the only one to change his clothes, he realised, as he looked at Martin’s jumper, green, comfy, and all he wanted was to snuggle into him.

“Ah, you- you do too, Martin,” he found himself saying. It’s what a friend would say, too, right? Nothing suspicious about that at all. He watched as Martin blushed, wondering if his words made him uncomfortable. “Well, ah, so – have you come to a decision?”

Jon had told Martin to pick the film, as all of his suggestions would be nothing but documentaries, and since they both had a Netflix account, they would try to press play at the same time and hope for the best. He was curious to see what Martin picked.

“Okay, so are you familiar with Hayao Miyazaki’s work? I thought we could maybe watch _Princess Mononoke_?”

There was no use in lying, Jon had no idea what Martin was talking about.

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“Even better! I- I think you might like it? I- I don’t know,” Martin’s laugh was as nervous as Jon felt. “It’s an animated film, but it’s gritty and a bit- well, I don’t want to say _it’s deep_ and sound pretentious, but I-, um-“

“Martin, it’s fine. I’m sure you picked a good one,” he tried to make his smile as reassuring as possible, and it seemed to work, as Martin visibly relaxed, his shoulders slumping down. “Why don’t we just watch it?”

“Oh, yes, sure! Okay. Um, do you mind if I snack on some crisps while watching?”

“I actually got myself some raisins and nuts right here, so please, go ahead.”

Jon watched as Martin made himself more comfortable on what Jon assumed was his couch, and he followed suit. The Admiral barely protested as he leaned back and plugged in his earphones. He remained seated rather than lying down, as he felt that was almost too much to do so while talking to Martin.

He found the film easily enough and perceived the style of drawing to be rather familiar to something he had already seen. Before they pressed play, he vocalised his thoughts to Martin.

“Oh, yes, you might have seen _Spirited Away_? I think most people are familiar with that one. It’s about a girl who has to save her parents by working for these supernatural beings? Oh, and I’m sure you remember No-Face, the one with the gold?”

“Ah, yes. I think I might have seen that one at the cinema, actually,” as an adolescent, he added internally. He remembered feeling strange after seeing it, as he had expected it to be a film made for children, and yet lacked the usual easy-going plot. He was getting excited to watch this one.

“So, are you ready?” Martin asked and Jon nodded, letting him take the lead. “Oh, I’d suggest you try to watch it in Japanese with subtitles by the way. I mean, I’m not one to tell you how to enjoy a film, but I think it really adds to the experience, you know?”

And so, Jon did. He adjusted the window of his browser to fit half of his screen, so that the other half was occupied by Martin. It felt rather strange, to sit there on his couch with a straight back while watching a film with another person. Jon tried not to wonder too much about how he had gotten himself into this situation and instead focussed on the film, which was already a lot more gruesome and disturbing than he had anticipated, just a few minutes in. They seemed to have managed to sync up their films quite well, as every reaction of Martin came at the right time, and he realised that at the times he didn’t have to read the subtitles, he was often watching Martin instead, enjoying his responses. He wasn’t familiar with Japanese animated films, but he found that yet again, the target audience was definitely not meant to be children. The animation was beautiful though, and he understood what Martin appreciated about it.

After a while, Jon couldn’t help but feel an urge to lie down on his couch rather than sit there and he tried to move inconspicuously, to not distract Martin from the film. He cursed himself for wearing jeans, especially since Martin wasn’t going to see them if he lay down with his laptop balanced on his thighs. He gave a grunt as he shifted his body, and the Admiral jumped drown from his lap, apparently offended that he had dared to move at all.

“You alright there, Jon?”

After all the honesty of their conversation earlier, Jon felt a bit reckless as he replied to Martin. “Ah, yes. I’m-, I should have chosen a different pair of trousers, I’m afraid. I must have become a bit too used to wearing joggers.”

“Oh, um, do you want to change? We can pause anytime.”

“Yes, I think I’d actually appreciate that. Pause on the count of three?”

Jon dashed into his bedroom as soon as they had paused the film, changing as quickly as possible into the first pair of joggers he could find. He almost tripped over the jeans as he left his bedroom, trying to calm his breath to not appear to be the most idle person in London as he returned to his couch.

“That’s most definitely better,” he sighed, lying down onto the couch properly now, any pretence of appearing reputable gone. Martin didn’t seem to mind.

“Well, I’m glad you’re more comfortable now.”

Jon couldn’t quite place it, but there was something in Martin’s voice that was taking him apart, and he tried his best to remain composed. He was glad to have some media as a distraction.

Halfway in the film, Martin took off his jumper without any prior warning, revealing a dark T-shirt underneath. As he did so, the T-shirt rid up ever so slightly, and as the whole action had changed the position of Martin’s laptop, Jon got to witness the smallest sliver of soft skin, as it revealed a part of his tummy. And Martin’s _arms_ , they were just bare, for all the world to see. Jon choked on nothing but managed to blame it on the nuts as Martin inquired if he was alright. For some reason, Jon found himself to have trouble focussing on what was playing, instead repeatedly stealing glances at Martin.

They ended up watching the entire film in one sitting, and Jon found himself to be strangely moved by the ending. Martin wasn’t going to let him ring off without a thorough discussion about it, apparently. There were a lot of aspects that Jon had enjoyed, so he found himself to be able to speak about it in plenty. They were still going as Jon checked the time and found it to be after midnight.

“Ah, it’s- it’s getting rather late, isn’t it?”

“Is it? I haven’t-” Jon watched Martin as he, too, checked his phone for the time. “Oh, wow! I had no idea. Sorry to keep you up, I didn’t- didn’t even realise–“

“No, no, it’s- it’s fine, Martin. I’m- I’ve enjoyed it,” and as Jon spoke, he wondered what the hell was wrong with him to share so much. “The film, I mean,” he added, to tone down his words. Martin nodded, and then yawned and Jon wanted nothing more but to put him to bed, to make sure that the duvet covered his whole body and to tuck the sides in underneath him. Or maybe crawl on top of him and fall asleep right there, soothed by the sound of his heartbeat. It really was time to end their call.

“Do you… want to do it again? Next week, maybe?” Martin asked, smiling sheepishly at him and Jon’s first instinct told him to bolt, to tell him that he was busy. It was the only logical thing to do, if he wanted Martin to remain unaware of his feelings.

“I’d like that, yes,” he said, throwing all caution to the winds. Martin’s smile was reward enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never ever would have thought that this fic would end up being longer than 20k and yet here we are...
> 
> And I have yet to figure out how many more chapters will follow... maybe we'll get to 10 or 12 chapters in the end? WE'LL SEE! I still have a bunch of scenes planned for this one!
> 
> But anyway, every comment on this fills me with so much joy sO thank YOU! It really keeps me motivated to write more! <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!
> 
> Smallest of disclaimers: there's one line in this chapter that's a bit "steamier" than the rest of this fic. Also: there's a lot of stuff happening in this chapter and it's all very self-indulgent, so I'm really hoping you'll enjoy it, too!!

Martin spent the whole weekend procuring energy from his film night with Jon. He couldn’t get over the fact that they were finally back to talking, and that Jon had seemed to be _relieved_ over the fact that Martin wanted that, too. It had been a risk to ask him to watch a film together, a spur of the moment decision, and Jon had said _yes_. It had been the most difficult thing to do, and yet it all turned out to be so simple.

That weekend, he found himself smiling more often than he had done the entire week before that and caught himself singing – although badly – while doing the chores. He even managed to write, something he had not been able to do since the outbreak started. He was bursting with energy. He felt alive. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that it was due to Jon.

At Saturday at noon, he wondered if it would be too much to ask Jon what he was having for lunch and if he’d ever be up for cooking the same thing while talking to each other through Zoom. He had seen people do it on the internet. He wanted to try it with Jon. He found himself too shy to ask.

Saturday evening approached and Martin wrote and wrote and wrote and let the words take over. He tried to convince himself that it wasn’t a poem about Jon, specifically, because that would be too obvious, overused, cliché. He wasn’t that kind of writer. He was _not_ going to write about falling in love with your boss. Except that perhaps, he was. Sort of.

He woke up on Sunday and found a message by Jon, letting him know that he had watched _Spirited Away_ the night before, asking him if he cared to discuss the implications of finding balance, ecological sensibility and capitalism the film brought with it. Martin only realized that they had been texting back and forth all morning when his stomach told him with a growl to find something to eat.

On Sunday evening, Martin was lying on his bed which felt too big for one person all of a sudden, even though it had been perfectly fine right until then and had never bothered him before. He shouldn’t imagine Jon next to him, because it hurt more than it did any good. Even though they were talking again and no longer assuming that they hated each other, they were still far away from any possible romantic scenarios. Martin was completely sure of that. And yet, he wondered, if Jon was into cuddling. If he would let Martin run his hands through his hair and scrape his fingertips against his scalp. If he would enjoy it if Martin ran his fingers over his back, drawing circles, finding any tense spots he could knead. He wondered if Jon would relax against his own body or stay rigid, if he’d fit against his side like he pictured him to. He imagined what it must feel like to embrace him, to drag Jon on top of his body and trap him in his arms, and have Jon smiling all the same. To kiss him right there. To have Jon kiss him back. The thought of it sent a jolt of pleasure through him and he let himself relax against his sheets, closing his eyes. He believed that it was not a right thing to do, exactly, to fantasise about his boss like this. But somehow, he found it rather difficult to feel guilty as one of his hands slid across his chest, over his abdomen and into his pyjama bottoms.

\---

„ _So_. How are things with Jon?”

“I-, I don’t even know what you’re talking about, Tim.”

“Sure, you don’t. It’s just that I’ve got an email this morning which included a fucking smiley face, by non-other than our boss man. So, _something_ must be up.”

“Tim, come on, leave it.”

Yet again, Martin found himself to be entrapped, getting riled up by Tim, and was glad that Sasha seemed to be on his side for once. He knew it would be a wise thing to ignore him. But with Tim, it felt better to _react_.

“And what makes you think _I_ have anything to do with it?”

“Because you seem to be the bane of his existence and therefore also his ray of sunshine. At the same time. Somehow.”

“That- that’s not-, that’s not even-“

Sasha and Tim had formed a habit of inviting Martin to their weekly Monday-Zoom-call a little earlier than necessary, simply to catch up on anything mildly interesting that had happened to them. However, this week, Martin had refused to talk about his Friday night. It was nothing scandalous enough to keep secret, and yet, he found himself wanting to keep it to himself. This week however, Martin noticed that he wasn’t the only one acting rather peculiar. Tim was fidgety and Sasha was unusually reserved, and he had still to find a reason why.

Tim was still going on about them, but was interrupted by Jon joining their meeting, finally. Martin tried his best to play it cool. He looked at Jon. Looked at his hands. His mouth fell open. Martin started speaking before Jon was able to greet them.

“Did you paint your nails?”

“Oh, ah. Yes, Martin. I might have- might have... done that,” Martin watched as Jon looked at his own fingernails, which were painted black, examining them as if he was only just noticing a difference. “Um. Good afternoon, everybody.”

Tim looked very excited. Sasha appeared as if she couldn’t care less.

“Big fan of dumb quarantine ideas,” Tim stated, as if they needed any proof at this point. “Good for you, Jon! Looks hot. What’s next? You could shave your head – be my, my bald buddy? My hairless homie? My– “

“Well, thank you for the suggestion, Tim, but I’d rather not.”

Martin didn’t really dare to contribute anything else to their conversation, in fear of what would come out of his mouth. He had no idea he was into men wearing black nail polish. He knew it now and did it fiercely.

“Could we maybe get on with it? Shelley is _begging_ me to go for a walk with her. Sorry, lads,” Sasha did look almost uncomfortable as she spoke. Martin was about to ask about her wellbeing, but Jon was a little faster.

“No, you’re absolutely right, Sasha. Let’s focus.”

Jon had started reading one of the “special” statements, or _spooky boys,_ as Tim referred to them, every Monday for some time now. Jon was still unable to find a way to digitalise them properly, but Martin was not mad about it. He did his best to write down notes while Jon read, but still wound up being enamoured of his voice, getting lost in the rhythm of his speech. Gladly, nobody seemed to notice when he drifted off. It had become a nice sort of ritual for the start of their week, something he could hold onto, to give him a sense of daily routine. It had been a horrible experience the week before. It was the opposite of it, now, even if the actual content of the statement was everything but pleasant.

They had just started the discussion about the statement, and Jon was asking them for their input and if they knew any possible contacts, as two things happened right after another.

Sasha cursed as she jumped up from her seat. And Tim, who had been looking at the contact list on his phone, gave a jolt as something touched his elbow. It looked like a dog’s nose, and as the creature moved, Martin recognised her immediately.

It was Sasha’s dog, Shelley.

Martin had not yet processed what he was witnessing as the little box that showed Tim’s face showed him cursing, waving his hands about and right after that – nothing. Tim had left their video conference.

“What –“ Jon tried to ask. Sasha interrupted him.

“I- must-, I just. My connection’s bad. I’ll-, I’ll be right back.”

And then Sasha was gone, too. They were quiet for a minute or so, looking at each other in shock. Jon was the first to break the silence.

“They –“

“Did you see…?“

“Are they…?”

“I mean, they must be –“

“But I thought-“

“Tim and Sasha, huh?” Martin had speculated that there might be something going on. But he had not expected _that_. “I mean, is that legal? Are they… allowed to do that right now?”

“Well, as long as they keep two meters apart…”

Martin puffed through his noise. “Right, sure, sounds _very_ likely.”

Jon appeared to be rather flustered by the thought of them keeping a less than two-meter distance. Martin tried not to think about it too much, either. He was getting tired of blushing all the time.

“Cool. So, how come you’ve painted your nails?”

“My…? Oh, yes. I found the bottle in a box where it didn’t belong, so- It-, it had been standing there on my desk for days, and, well, while I relistening to a statement, I simply- I just found myself opening it and painting them. I can’t tell you why, it just felt natural, I suppose?”

“Oh! Tell me more. How come you even own black nail polish in the first place?

\---

Martin had been listening to Jon explaining him the benefits of painting your nails for the better part of the last fifteen minutes and had learned a thing a two about his past in the process. The thought of a rebellious teen version of Jon made him ridiculously giddy, and he wondered which other items of that time were still in his possession. Maybe a leather jacket or two. Or perhaps, a hidden tattoo he forgot to mention? Either way, the week was off to a great start, and by the time Tim and Sasha finally joined them again, he had forgotten all about what had happened earlier. Sasha looked agitated; Tim looked smug.

“So, would you care to explain what we’ve just witnessed?” Jon asked them. Tim looked ready to talk, but Sasha got there first.

“Nothing to explain, really. Don’t know what you’re referring to. So, what can we do for you this week, Jon?”

Martin wasn’t about to let them drop it so easily but decided that he could save the conversation for later. He was looking forward to teasing them about it, just a tiny little bit, to give them a taste of their own medicine. Jon didn’t seem to be up for such games, however, and so their conversation was deemed finished soon after they each had their contact person to call.

“Oh, and Martin, while I still have you here; would you please stay in the chat for a moment?”

“Oh! Yes! Sure!” Martin cursed his voice once again for developing the habit of becoming high-pitched and unbearable whenever he got excited, but he just decided to not look at Tim’s or Sasha’s face as he bid them goodbye. It made things a bit easier.

“So,” Jon started as soon as the others were gone, and Martin was all his already, completely and absolutely smitten. “I know, it’s only Monday, but I-, I just wanted to ask whether you wanted to, um…,” Martin’s heart was beating so hard in his chest that he was sure his mic would pick it up. “Do you want to have dinner together? I mean, like- god- I meant like, ah, um, as f-, as friends, obviously. Co-worker-friends.”

Co-worker-friends. Martin’s ears felt so hot, he wondered if they would simply fall off.

“You-, do you mean like through Zoom, or…?”

“Oh, ah, yes. Yes. I don’t mean to-, I mean, unless you’re busy, or if you don’t want to, that’s f-“

“No, I’d love to!” Martin resisted the urge to hide his face behind his hands in embarrassment. “I’d-, I’d like that, Jon. I was about to suggest something like that, actually,” he laughed awkwardly and wondered how he was still alive. Jon was asking him out for dinner. A friendly co-worker dinner, through Zoom, so not a _date_ but dinner, nonetheless, and not _out_ – since they had to stay in – but still.

“Oh! Okay! Great!” Jon looked rather relieved. Martin felt a bubbling feeling in his chest grow. “I was just thinking, because you suggested watching a film, so I thought-, but anyway; I thought that maybe we could prepare the same meal, so it feels like- it’s almost like we’d actually have dinner together?”

“Are you telling me you always choose whatever the other person is having?”

“What? Oh, no”, Jon laughed. Martin wondered how he was meant to survive this conversation. “I suppose you’re right.”

“But I do like your idea! Um, so, ah, like… what would you like to cook?”

“I’d say some pasta, maybe? Something simple? I’m not that great of a cook, I guarantee you, but, I mean, we could try something else, just might have to go shopping first if we do-”

“No, pasta’s perfect!”

Martin could make some pasta. He was just glad that Jon wasn’t suggesting anything else. He had to check to see if he had enough ingredients to make a sauce from scratch, unless he wanted Jon to see him use a store bought one instead. He really didn’t. They agreed on a time and with that, Jon left the conversation.

He got up from his seat and went for the kitchen. Just as he found a can of tomatoes, realisation hit him. Jon wanted them to have dinner. He wanted them to spend time together, to cook food together, even if they didn’t actually do it in the same room. But Jon was probably still in London, the same city, such a short distance away from him. Maybe Martin could ask him in which district he lived, maybe they could meet up in a park sometime. Maybe.

He reminded himself of what Jon had called them: co-worker-friends. That’s what they were. And not anything else. And it was more than enough.

But still, the thought of the evening that was lying ahead of him didn’t leave him alone. He didn’t know how he was supposed to work under these conditions, but he made do, somehow.

\---

It was probably too early. No, it definitely was. Martin was in his apron, his laptop safely placed on his counter, far enough from his stove but still close enough to have a good look on it. His phone showed him that he still had ten minutes left until their previously arranged evening plans. He decided to give it a try, anyway, so he took a deep breath and joined the chatroom.

Jon’s camera was turned on, but he remained absent from the picture. Martin wondered what he was up to as he took in the view. Jon had changed the position of his laptop as well, and Martin was looking at a part of his apartment that had yet remained unknown to him. With that and the information he had gathered from their film night, he had already gotten a bit of a sense of Jon’s living space. It was quite roomy, definitely roomier than his, from what he could tell. Jon seemed to be quite a minimalist when it came to décor, as most items Martin could make out appeared to be work-related. He was still trying to distinguish what the picture on the wall he was looking at showed, as he heard something so unexpected, he didn’t recognise what it was at first. It took him at least half a minute until he realised what was happening.

Jon was singing.

And not just any random melody. Jon was singing _Don’t Stop Me Now_ by _Queen_. And if that fact alone wasn’t already too much for Martin to handle, he was _good_ at it too. Jon, who had appeared as nothing but snobbish, cold and distant in the first few weeks Martin had gotten to talk to him, was singing _Queen_ in his apartment and had painted his nails black and was doing the exact opposite of what Martin expected him to do.

He found himself to be holding in his breath, as he didn’t want to get caught listening. Jon was changing the lyrics ever so slightly, singing about how he wanted to make a supersonic _cat_ rather than _man_ out of anyone, and Martin imagined him to be singing the song to the Admiral. He bit the insides of his checks to stop himself from making a noise. It was a demanding song, Martin knew that much, but it sounded like Jon was having fun with it. He never expected Jon to be that good of a singer.

After a minute or two, as Martin wondered if he could get away with recording this occurrence secretly, it finally happened. Martin watched as Jon sort of danced into the picture, the cat in his arms, and continued singing, right until the moment his eyes fell onto the screen, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Martin!”

“Hey, Jon, I didn’t want to-, ah, interrupt you.”

“You should have! I didn’t-, I was – “ the Admiral leapt from his arms and Jon looked small, caught in the act, defenceless. It made Martin adore him even more.

“You’re good! You-, you sound really nice, I mean!”

“Ah, um. Well, right, so. Um. Didn’t mean for you to hear all that, I really- I thought I turned off the-, well. Guess it’s too late now, anyway.”

“I’m serious, Jon. I mean,” he was struck by an idea. “We must do some karaoke sometime! Once this-“ he waved his hands into the air, indicating the situation, “is over. Tim and Sasha would probably freak out if they-”

“Oh, I’d prefer it if you-, if you didn’t mention it to them.”

Martin considered this for a moment and looked at Jon, how his posture gave away his insecurity, and he decided not to press his buttons.

“I mean, I won’t force you, but I think you should reconsider. The world needs to know, Jon.”

Jon actually laughed at that and relaxed, visibly. He walked a little closer, too and Martin felt sheepish once again.

“Thanks, Martin. Ah, for the compliment too, I guess.”

Martin knew, he _knew_ he was blushing again, but it was nothing he could control, so he pretended not to care about it.

Jon had chosen a different pasta than him, which meant that their meals each needed a different time to cook. They talked about nothing in particular as they both worked on their sauces, cutting onions, Martin forgetting how sensitive he was to them. He was still crying, pretending that he was fine, when he started roasting them. Jon kept asking him if he was alright, and Martin kept nodding despite the tears. It was such a ridiculous situation, but Martin was loving every second of it.

Their meals were ready to be eaten soon enough, and Martin tried to move both his plate and his laptop at the same time. He was surprised that he didn’t drop either on his way to his table. Before sitting down, he took off the apron and watched as Jon appeared to be taking a seat on his couch.

“Oh, don’t you…? No, that…. that would be rude. Never mind.”

“What is it, Martin?”

“Oh, I was just wondering- Why don’t you eat at a table?”

“I am.”

“No, you’re sitting on your couch.”

“There’s a table in front of me.”

“That- that really doesn’t count.”

“Why- why would I sit anywhere else?”

“Because! You’re supposed to eat at a dining table, aren’t you?”

“Well, I don’t own a dining table. I could sit at my desk, if that would make you feel any better?”

Jon seemed slightly irritated by Martin’s words. It was not like Martin had never eaten on a couch, or even in his bed before, but they were doing this together, so part of him wanted it to be proper.

“You don’t-, oh, no I mean, it’s fine. Just- do whatever you’re comfortable with, I’m really not going to-“

“There,” Jon interjected while standing up, taking his meal and his laptop to his desk. “Don’t want my-, my friend to be uncomfortable.” Martin wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or earnest. Either way, the word _friend_ made his heart jump.

“I appreciate it! Now, uh, enjoy? And thanks for… for this,” Martin felt like he was starting to sound ridiculous again, but Jon was smiling at him, small and a bit crooked, in a way that was so very _Jon_. He couldn’t help but grin in return. There was silence as they started eating, which felt a bit strange at first, but they fell back into a rhythm of asking each other questions, and soon it just felt natural to Martin. To sit there and have dinner with Jon over a video chat. He wondered when things had started changing so much that they were able to simply do that now, and he knew that it was because they had actually communicated for once last week. His heart gave another hard thump as he considered a situation in which he told Jon his feelings about him. What a ridiculous thought.

They were currently discussing what film to watch next, as Martin found himself to be so absorbed in their discussion that he forgot who he was talking to for a second or two.

“ _Of course_ , I’ve seen Matrix, Jon. Who do you think I am? I mean, I have to admit, I watched it when it came out and I was like what, twelve? But that still-“

“Wait. Wait, Martin. Hold on. What do you mean you were _twelve_? I remember when it came out.”

“So? I don’t really see what you-“

“If you were twelve when it came out, then… You’re way younger than what it says on your CV.”

“I-, no-, I didn’t,” his voice was shaking. He had revealed his age to someone he shouldn’t. Again. But this time, it was _Jon_. “I meant like, figuratively. I-, I didn’t- Ah, shit, Jon. Let me explain-“

“Martin. Hey, it’s fine, you don’t have to. I-, ah, I don’t mind. I won’t tell Elias,” Jon paused for a moment. Martin didn’t dare to speak. “I might have also lied on my CV, actually? I’m- I’m twenty-seven.”

Martin gave a pretty convincing performance of being surprised but felt inconceivably guilty immediately afterwards. Jon was being honest to him, opening up. He decided to be honest, too. He sighed.

“Actually, Sasha might have-, might have told me that, already.”

“Sasha?”

“I have no idea how she figured it out. Thinking about it now, she probably knows my birthday too. Oh, by the way, we’re the same age!” he really didn’t mean to sound so chipper about it, but Jon’s face showed him something that seemed familiar. It wasn’t hope. But it was _something_.

They finished their meal while talking about the nineties, which was not a topic Martin had expected, but it turned out to be a lot of fun. To get lost in nostalgia with someone who just _got it_ , who had lived through the exact same time as a child. Their plates were empty, their stomachs full, and Martin could feel himself getting sleepy. He felt so utterly content as he yawned, stretched and then scratched his belly. Jon was choking on his drink for some reason.

“Hey, um, Jon? Thank you for this. I know, I’ve said it before, but still. I’m- I’m enjoying this.”

“Ah, well, um. Yes. I, ah, have some washing up to do, so.”

“Oh, yes, sure. Uh, have a good– “ he was about to say evening, but a look at the time made him change his words. “Have a good night, Jon.”

“Same to you, Martin.”

He closed his laptop but didn’t move, thinking about how the evening had gone. It had been such an eventful day that he was feeling a bit overwhelmed by all of it. And of course, he had yet to get back at Tim and Sasha. But there would be time tomorrow. Tonight, he wanted to think about Jon, of all the different layers he had allowed him to witness. He was thinking about his painted nails and his voice and his hair and his body. About his past and his present and maybe their future, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, my friend Anna actually created some sweet, sweet fanart for this fic [which you can find right here!](https://annbun.tumblr.com/post/619477818766704641/so-everyone-should-go-and-read-my-friends-fic-and) Please shower her with love, she's an absolutely fantastic person and this fic wouldn't exist without her.
> 
> And another thing: I wrote some nsfw jonmartin because the pining of this fic is killing me and [Moet](http://moetshander.tumblr.com/) inspired me to do so. You can [find that here! ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24455752#main)
> 
> ANYWAY, I'm really interested to hear your thoughts on this new chapter!! Every comment fuels me with energy to write more, so thank you!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! The writing block almost got me this week but here I am with a new chapter!!
> 
> I have to thank my amazing friend [Anna](https://annbun.tumblr.com) once again for not just motivating me but really helping me work out some of the details of this chapter (and the next one!!!) <3
> 
> As always: enjoy!

Sasha and Tim were avoiding him, Martin was sure of that. Every time he tried to talk to them at the same time, one of them had an excuse to leave immediately. It took him three whole days to finally get them both to join his videocall properly. And yet, Tim was already trying to deflect the conversation.

“So, Martin, you and Jon-“

“Nope! No! I won’t let you start with that again. There’s something you have to tell me, and I deserve to know! You owe me that much!”

“I mean, I guess we do owe you a bit of an explanation,” Sasha said, twirling a strand of her hair. Martin nodded vigorously.

“Well, Tim, do you want to, um, tell Martin about our–“

“What do you want me to say, Sash? I’m not sure Martin wants to know that we’ve been shagg–“

“Right! No, actually, I think I can explain it more clearly,” Sasha was blushing while she spoke, and Martin tried not to look too smug about it. “Um, so, Martin, Tim and I have seen each other a couple of times over the last few weeks, but we really- we really thought it was not going to be of any interest to you, actually, but we-,” she took a big breath there. “Well, we’ve just been enjoying each other’s company, that’s all. Honestly.”

“Huh. Okay, right. Enjoying each other, have you? Tim, anything you want to add to that?”

“There’s quite a bit I want to add, actually, but I don’t want Sasha to punish me, so-“ Martin watched as Sasha rolled her eyes and Tim considered his words for a second and then added; “Oh, hold on, I actually _do_ want that. Huh.”

“Shut your pretty mouth, Stoker,” Sasha bit back but there was clearly no ill intention in her voice.

Martin managed to tease them for several more minutes, although Tim seemed almost immune to anything he was saying. He considered upping his game in the next private session or game night he had with him. But Sasha had had enough, and she wasn’t even the real culprit here. He considered telling them about his evenings with Jon, about the film night and their dinner a few days ago. Would Jon be mad, or embarrassed if he told them? Would Tim and Sasha even mention it to him? He decided to go with his guts and talk to them. He had been bursting with excitement about it for the last days but had still felt offended enough by their – mostly Tim’s – involvement in the whole misunderstanding with Jon, so he had kept it to himself. And because it had been nice to keep it private, somehow, too.

“Alright. I have some news, actually. Not quite what you’ve got going on there, but… Last week, Jon and I watched a film and then last Monday, we cooked dinner and just- just ate together. I mean, not like- not like, actually _together_ , it was just over Zoom, but I-“

He didn’t manage to go on, as his words kept being interrupted by Tim whooping in glee, and Sasha groaning in… defeat?

“Told you, they’d figure it out by now! I _told_ you, Sash.”

“Okay, yes, whatever, you win this one, Tim. A fiver, was it?”

“Excuse me,” Martin interrupted them, “but what the hell are you on about?”

They were both grinning and Martin felt like a fish surrounded by two sharks. Sasha was the one to answer his question.

“Oh, nothing. Just a little bet. Okay, so how did those dates go?”

Martin’s face felt so hot, he thought he might burn his hand if he touched it.

“It-, it wasn’t a _date_. Neither of those, they-, we were-, we were just, I don’t know, hanging out?” Martin tried his best, but the other two didn’t seem convinced. Tim shook his head in disbelief as Sasha replied once again.

“Come on, Martin. Film night and dinner? Those are _dates_.”

“No, they’re not! He- he called us, ah, he called us co-worker-friends.”

“Oh, boo!” Sasha shouted with her hands cupped around her mouth. Tim looked quite appalled.

“That arse,” was his contribution.

“Hey, don’t call him that! I mean, that’s what we are, so- he- he’s just telling the truth? No reason to insult him.”

Tim rolled his eyes while Sasha shook her head ever so slightly.

“So, you’re telling me you’ve been on two dates and you’re both still convinced that there’s, what, _nothing_?” Tim sounded like it must be obvious to Martin. But Tim had no idea, it was just so clear to Martin that Jon was not interested.

“Those weren’t-! You know what, forget it. I don’t even know why I share this stuff with you if you’re just going to make fun of me.”

“What! Martin!” Sasha appeared to be quite upset by his words. “We’re not saying this to make fun of you, really. We’re serious! We’re- we just think you’d be cute together. We keep talking about it, actually.”

“Oh god. Stop,” Martin allowed himself to bury his face in his hands since it was only Tim and Sasha watching, shoving his glasses up in the process. “You’re only going to get my hopes up. He’s just not-“ he sighed, and his heart hurt. “He’s not interested.”

“And how can you be sure about that?” Tim asked, one hand scratching his head. His hair was growing back already.

“Have you asked him, Martin?” Sasha inquired so softly that Martin knew he had to answer.

“No? Obviously not? What do you expect me to say? _Hey, Jon, do you fancy me by any chance_?”

“Yes,” Tim was nodding enthusiastically. “Perfect. Just try to sound a bit more earnest when you do, and you’re all set.”

“I was kidding! I’m not-, I mean I can’t do that. That’s- that’s just– “ he sighed again and let his head fall against the cool surface of his desk. It offered a bit of relief. “I just know he’s not interested.”

He was not looking at his screen but assumed that Tim and Sasha were probably communicating nonverbally. It didn’t make a difference. It was impossible for Jon to like him. He had thought about it so many times, had considered all options and still came to the same conclusion. Although, of course, it wasn’t _entirely_ impossible, not really, because nothing was. What would be the worst thing that could happen if he actually told him?

“I could lose my job,” he said out loud. “He could just fire me. He can do that, right? Can he? Even if he didn’t, he would probably despise me. How could he be into _me_ , I mean have you seen me?”

“Martin!” they both protested. Martin lifted his head to look at them.

“No, I’m serious! I’m not- I’m not made-“ he sighed again. “I don’t think I’m very lovable, that’s all.”

“Hey! That’s not true!” Sasha countered. “Tim likes to gush about you sometimes.”

“Um, Sasha? I told you that in _private_?” Tim’s reaction was so earnest that it made Martin smile. “But, I mean, she’s not wrong. I’d pounce on you as soon as you’d let me. I mean, I would _tap_ _that_. Climb you like a tree. Well, I guess it’s not going to be a very long climb, since I’m pretty tall, but hey, talking about _long_ , I’m sure you –“

“Okay! Thank you, Tim! I’m flattered! Very flattered!”

Martin really wanted to hide underneath his desk right this moment, but he did appreciate what Tim was saying. It was nice to have someone talk about him in such a way. He could not remember the last time anyone had done so. They were both still grinning at him.

“Anyway. Sasha, how’s Shelley doing?”

\---

Martin decided to give Jon another “private” call on Friday evening, as it had been a few days since they had talked about anything else but work. He wasn’t sure if Jon was holding back after spending two evenings with Martin, if he was already getting sick of him, or if he was just absorbed in his work. He tried to convince himself that it was the last one. He sat back on his couch and pressed the call button.

As Jon picked up, Martin found himself to just marvel at his appearance for a moment. The grey in his hair. His physique. He wondered how easy it would be for him to lift him up, to carry him through his flat, to kiss him there while holding him in his arms.

“Hello, Martin.”

“Oh! Right! Hey there, Jon. Um, how are you?”

“I’m doing alright.”

“I guess, I just-, just wanted to check in with you? And- and see if you’d still be up for another film night? As we, uh, talked about?”

“Right, yes. Ah, sure.”

Something was up with Jon. It was not like he was a very high energy person on any given day, and yet, he seemed different. Upset. Sad, almost.

“Hey, uh, are you alright there, Jon? What’s going on?”

“No, it’s. It’s nothing. I’m-“ he sighed so deeply, his shoulders moving along with it, his breath shaking that Martin was starting to get worried. “I guess I’m… I’m just… I’ve been having a bad, uh, mental health day.”

“Do you-“ Martin started, stopping himself, wondering if it was too much to ask the question he wanted to ask. He did it anyway. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know, Martin. I guess I’m actually just–“ another sigh, and then half a smile. “lonely? Yes. I think that’s it. Pathetic, I know. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I mean, I… no. I’ve had a glass of wine. I don’t drink, at all, usually but I just. I’m sorry. Maybe right now is not the best time to talk to me, actually.”

Martin’s chest ached with empathy and the want to reassure Jon, to tell him about his own feelings, to hold him close enough to diminish them. He had not expected the other to voice his emotions in such a way. Maybe they had become closer over those last weeks. Or, maybe, the isolation was getting to Jon. Maybe it simply was the glass of wine.

“Jon. That’s not pathetic.”

“But it is.”

“No! I- I get it, I mean, I actually really- really do? I… I know what that feels like. I’m- I get lonely, too. I feel like I’m- I’m more often lonely than not, actually. Especially now, but- but even before that.”

Jon was silent, regarding him, and Martin felt exposed, scared and hopeful. They both sat in quiet, and Martin wondered if Jon had nothing more to say. He spoke instead.

“Uh, just… You should know, Jon, that you’re- you’re not alone, really. I mean, it sounds stupid, I know, but I’m serious. I’m here, you know? I mean, all of us are, Tim and Sasha,” he blushed, his heart beating too fast in his chest. “And me. I’m here.”

There was another one of those half-smiles again, almost melancholic, disbelieving. It hurt Martin to see it.

“Not really though. I mean, we’re both talking to a screen, Martin, it’s not- it’s not _the real deal_.”

“No. No, you’re right,” there was an idea blooming in Martin, and before he could think it through, he was already putting it into words. “Let’s see each other then.”

“What?”

“Let’s meet! Why not!”

“What do you mean _let’s meet_ , you mean right now? Martin-“

“If Tim and Sasha-“

“Martin, it’s- it’s eight! At night!”

“So?”

“What, you want to meet in a park or something?” he scoffed in disbelief. “The sun is setting as we speak!”

“Alright!” it sounded harsher than he had intended. His heart was beating too fast, still. “Tomorrow then!”

“Fine! Okay!” Jon sounded exasperated and almost mad at him for the suggestion. Martin was absolutely dumbstruck. Jon was agreeing. Jon was agreeing to meet him. He hadn’t even planned on asking him that, and yet he was agreeing. He watched as the other crossed his arms, defiant. It was that movement that brought back his voice.

“Are- are you sure? Do you- do you actually want to meet me, Jon?”

“Uh, I mean- I’m… Unless you were joking?” as Jon spoke, he let his arms sink down again, his brow furrowed.

“No! No, I- I wasn’t, I just, ah, didn’t… I thought you might, um, not- not want that.”

“Well, you thought wrong,” there was another hint of defiance back in his voice, but it was accompanied by something else, something lighter, warmer.

“Okay! Right! Cool! Uh, it’s a date then! I mean-“ Martin groaned.

He cursed at himself, internally, as Jon’s expression changed. Martin couldn’t stand to look at him.

“I didn’t mean like- an actual- I mean, of course not, obviously, I don’t-“

Jon’s smile was turning earnest. Although it didn’t help with Martin’s case, at all.

“It’s a date,” Jon repeated. Before Martin was even able to actually process his words, he continued. “So, I think we still have a film to watch, right? Anything in mind?”

They had a hard time agreeing on what to watch, as Martin’s mind kept wandering off, thinking about the next day, and Jon was mostly unfamiliar with everything that Netflix suggested. They ended up watching an episode of _The Great British Bake Off_ on YouTube instead, which was a lot more fun than Martin had anticipated. Jon kept getting frustrated whenever one of the contestants messed up, and Martin found himself laughing at his reactions rather than what was happening in the episode. He managed to get distracted by it for a few minutes at a time but then the thought of actually meeting Jon came back to him, like a wave crashing over him, sweeping him away. What were they going to _do_? Just stand there, two meters apart, staring at each other, not knowing what to say? He couldn’t wrap his head around the situation. Why had he suggested it? Why had Jon _agreed_ to it?

At the end of the episode, they found themselves to be content with the judges’ decision and somehow, agreeing with Jon made Martin feel connected. Seen. It was all so strange to him. And yet, he still needed to know more about their plans for the next day.

“So, um… about tomorrow. Where would you like to meet? And- and when?”

They talked about the locations of their flats and the parks closest to them. Since they were both not really keen on taking the tube at the moment, they decided to meet in the middle at Battersea Park. Jon suggested to meet at two in the afternoon and Martin found no reason to disagree. They bid each other goodbye and as soon as Jon had disappeared from his screen, Martin grabbed his phone, opening the archival assistants group chat with shaky fingers.

_Jon and I will meet at Battersea Park tomorrow. Help._

He didn’t have to wait very long for the replies to come in.

(4 new messages)

Tim Stoker:

_!!!!!!_

_GET HIM!!!!!_

Sasha James:

_[heart emoji] [heart emoji] [heart emoji]_

Tim Stoker:

_date! it’s a date!!! don’t even try to deny this one, mister blackwood!!! daaaaaate!!_

He couldn’t decide whether he should smile or roll his eyes. He decided to do both. He knew it wasn’t a date, not really. Jon needed to see a friend, that was all.

_You’re not helping!! Any suggestion on what we should do??_

(1 new message)

Sasha James:

_Relax, Martin! You can just talk about yourselves. Or maybe snog a little?? Parks are perfect for some good snogging._

He stared at his phone in disbelief and wondered how he had ever considered Sasha to be the mature one.

_Just because you’re not following the rules doesn’t mean I won’t_

(5 new message)

Sasha James:

_Ouch. Guess that’s fair though._

Tim Stoker:

_yeah we deserve it alright. I’d suggest you just try to find an obscurely boring topic he likes and let him talk about it for hours. he loves doing that_

_try petrol prices_

_or mark zuckerberg_

_or sulphates_

He snorted at the idea but memorised the suggestions anyway. He thanked them before getting up from his couch, stretching his arms while yawning. His body was tired, but his mind was definitely not. He walked through his flat, wondering what he was supposed to do with the rest of his night, and if it would be smarter to go to bed early. Would he even be able to fall asleep with the delightful prospect of tomorrow? He grabbed the game console lying on his desk. Helping fictional characters was always a nice distraction.

\---

“The blue one, you reckon? Or maybe that green one? But I think this one is just too much; it’s so bright.”

Martin was showing off the entire content of his wardrobe at this point, alternating between wearing the shirts and jumpers and everything else, and just holding them up to his body, as Tim and Sasha judged him through his laptop, actually sitting next to each other this time. Seeing them being this close, their shoulders touching, made Martin feel incredibly happy for them, but it also made him yearn for someone to lean on as well. It took a while to convince Tim that he wasn’t going to go there shirtless just to woo Jon instantly, especially since Martin thought that his body _definitely_ didn’t have that sort of impact. Sasha was a bit more helpful.

“Well, it’s most important that you feel good in it, Martin.”

Tim nodded as Sasha spoke, and Martin glanced at the shirt Tim was wearing. It was grey, showcasing a jumping Pikachu. It appeared to be so washed out and tight around Tim’s chest that it made Martin wonder if it was actually from the 90s. Tim did look stylish, as always, even wearing that.

“Well, I think it’s time to show us your shoes. Most important part. How am I supposed to help if I don’t have all the information? And what about your jackets? You could wear a nice jacket.”

Tim had a point, and Martin left the room hurriedly only to return with even more items to throw on his bed – except for the shoes, of course. It took another thirty minutes for them to agree on an outfit that Martin actually felt comfortable in. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, really, just a black short sleeved shirt with dark jeans. The statement piece was the green bomber jacket that Tim and Sasha were obsessing over. Martin did like the way the outfit made him look, and after some consideration and a lot of encouragement by the other two, he even chose white sneakers to go with the rest. He thanked them before hanging up, feeling the excitement wash over him once again. He felt almost too nervous to have lunch but forced himself to eat an apple anyway before taking a shower. He had postponed it for as long as he could so he would arrive at the park looking as fresh and clean and possible, even though he still had a thirty-minute walk ahead of him to get there.

He let the water help him wash away the feelings of dread that were trying to overpower him and focussed on the good emotions instead. He even started humming while he lathered up his hair and by the time he left the shower, he could feel a pleasant anticipation run through him. He stole a glance at his phone, checking the time. There was no need to rush. He put on his clothes and tried to manage the mess that was his hair, before making sure to put on enough deodorant to get him to the park safely. It was probably still too early for him to leave, but he didn’t want to take the risk of making Jon wait for him.

As he closed his apartment door, he took a final deep breath, putting his keys and his phone in his pockets alongside his wallet. It was the first time in months that he was actually going to talk to someone, _really talk_ , other than the grocery store employees. And it wasn’t just any person either, but _Jon_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry to end this on a bit of a cliffhanger.... I really didn't mean to! I swear!! 🥺
> 
> Anyway, as always any feedback literally makes my day, so if you've enjoyed that chapter (and also if you didn't) please let me know! <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a huge shoutout to [Anna](https://annbun.tumblr.com) \- we're sharing a braincell which is one of the reasons she's such a huge (!!!) help with this fic (I rely on u girl)
> 
> Also shoutout to [Siarven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siarven/pseuds/Siarven) and [Soren](https://papershield-art.tumblr.com) for being such sweethearts and so motivating, and also for including me in their discord shenanigans ❤️
> 
> If you want, there's a [street view option available for the park](https://goo.gl/maps/8hoRxnGaPaiWkWNL7) that is mentioned in this chapter, Jon and Martin meet at the south-west entrance of the park (at Cambridge Road) - so you could technically follow them along, if you keep right when you get to the lake :)  
> 
> 
> Enjoy!

Jon had misjudged several things.

First of all, he was definitely a faster walker than what the maps-app on his phone would have expected him to be. It could have been the excitement speeding him up, clearly, but he had also factored arriving a bit early into account and was now left with twenty minutes to spare.

Secondly, he had trusted the sun more than he should have. Even though it looked like a sunny and warm day, he really ought to have brought a jacket with him. Walking had been alright but waiting was making him feel chilly already.

And thirdly, there were a lot more people with dogs around than he had expected. He wasn’t _afraid_ of dogs, not really, but he had no insignificant amount of respect for them and therefore tried to avoid them to the best of his abilities. It was hard to do that now, as one after the other passed him and most of them raised their head to look at him excitedly. He tried not to stare at them as he found a place to wait right after the gates. It was a strange feeling, as he had barely entered the park and yet he already enjoyed the sensation of being surrounded by nature, even though it was a manmade construction. The change of scenery had a great impact after spending so many weeks in his flat.

He was about to meet with his archival assistant and friend Martin Blackwood. _Friend_. The word didn’t feel quite fitting to Jon, even just thinking about it. Too small for what he was feeling for the other and yet almost too familiar for what they were for each other. They had been strangers just a few weeks ago but still, as Jon was standing in the shade of a tree, he thought that there was a connection there, a mutual understanding for each other, a reciprocal interest, even. And it had gotten worse in the last days, as Jon found himself to be thinking of him right after waking up and even before falling asleep. Martin was intoxicating to him, mesmerising him with his kindness and honesty. And now they were about to meet in person for the very first time and Jon felt like maybe, _maybe_ he should be running right at this moment, because if Martin saw how pathetic he actually was in person, he might not be as understanding. But his anticipation was overpowering the cloud of negativity forming in his head and instead, he smiled. It was a small thing, barely enough for other people to recognise as he looked at his shoes, but it was a smile that was all due to Martin.

He blinked as two feet clad with white sneakers stopped walking in his peripheral vision, drawing his attention. For a split second, he wondered who would choose white shoes to walk through a _park_ , before he actually looked at the person in question.

It was Martin.

Martin, who was keeping the appropriate distance and yet was closer than ever before. Martin, who was taller than Jon had remembered and expected, and he wondered if he had to stand on tiptoes if he ever were to kiss him. Martin, who beamed at him so brightly that Jon’s knees made a strange attempt to buckle. Martin, who looked _stunning_ even with his impractical shoes.

“Hi,” Martin said, the sound of his voice nothing but familiarity to Jon. It helped to cope with the overwhelming feelings he was experiencing.

“Hello, Martin,” Jon replied, and he wondered if he sounded as breathless as he felt. They stood there for several seconds, looking at each other, as Jon felt terribly self-conscious about his appearance. He had tried to make an effort for Martin, but his clothes did not offer that much variety. His shirt was plain, and his hair was a mess, so he had tried to conquer it by tying it back in a bun at the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure if it looked as ridiculous as it felt, but it made him feel better to get it out of his face.

“So,” Martin mused while bouncing on the balls of his feet. “shall we, uh, walk?”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

They started walking, keeping a distance between them. Jon wasn’t exactly sure if it was enough, if it was within the rules, but it felt like Martin should be closer to him, much closer. As they walked, Jon felt delighted by the fact that Martin had been over-punctual, just like him, and he wondered if Martin had felt a similar thrill of anticipation.

“Do you- uh, do you have any preferences to where we should go?” Martin asked as they came to a junction. Jon didn’t care. He was next to Martin, and that was so much more than what he had hoped for just days ago.

“You lead the way.”

“M-me?” Martin blushed and Jon appreciated to see his whole figure while he did so, watched as the other scratched at his neck and shifted the weight on his feet. “Uh, alright. Let’s go straight ahead, then?”

Martin liked to phrase his sentences as questions rather than anything else, Jon had noticed that in those last weeks that they had been talking to each other. He wondered why the other felt the need to do so in the first place, and if Jon had the ability to boost his confidence by granting him decisive power. Besides, Jon simply enjoyed letting him take the lead.

They walked past closed establishments and a playground, which felt quite eerie to Jon, to see it all empty during an afternoon in spring. Martin was next to him, always making sure that they didn’t accidentally get too close to each other. Jon found himself wondering how close they would walk if it wasn’t for the lockdown restrictions, if he’d be able to brush his hands against Martin’s on accident. The silence that hung over them wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but Jon still felt the urge to break it.

“So, uh, ha- have you ever been here before?” he cursed his voice for shaking but kept his back straight to try and convince Martin that he was purely confident. Martin seemed to be relieved that Jon started the conversation.

“Yes, actually. A couple of times. It’s, uh, it’s a nice place to gain some inspiration.”

“Oh, right. For what exactly?”

“Ah, I- oh, it’s a bit embarrassing, not sure if I should tell you,” Martin’s words were barely a mumble and Jon found himself to lean in, to try and bridge the distance between them. He took a step to the right, not wanting to make Martin uncomfortable by getting too close.

“Well, now you have to tell me,” Jon let himself smile at Martin and he returned it immediately.

“Promise not to tell Tim and Sasha, they have enough material to make fun of me for the next decade,” as Martin spoke, Jon wondered what the others knew that he didn’t, his curiosity gnawing on him, but he nodded so Martin would keep going. “I- I’ve been writing some poetry, actually? I mean, it’s nothing, it really isn’t-“

“I’d love to hear some, Martin.”

“Oh! Right, uh, not right now I hope,” he laughed, small and warm, and all Jon wanted was to hold his hand and pull him close. “That’d be, uh, no. I couldn’t. But, um, yes, maybe I’ll show you some in the future? I- I mean, don’t expect much.”

Martin laughed again as the blush on his face was reaching his ears. Jon felt his heart swell up in his chest as he watched. _Poetry_. Jon could see Martin bending over a notebook, feverishly writing down line after line, finding inspiration in nature, the pen in his hand pressing into the side of his fingers, ink staining his hands.

“What are they about?”

“Oh, uh, there’s no over-arching theme or anything, I just- I just write whatever comes to mind? About life, here, and, ah, about- about my experiences, I guess?”

“Any about me being an awful boss?” Jon hadn’t meant to ask that. It slipped out, and the words hang in the air between them as he wished for nothing more than to capture them and hide them from Martin before the other could process their meaning. But it was too late for that.

“Oh, ah, w-what? I mean, I mean why- why would I-? Of- of course, of course not, I mean, why would I write about _you_ , I mean, it’s not like- like I would know…? What would I even- I-“

As Martin stammered, Jon wondered if his reaction made it more likely that he actually _had_ written anything about him, and if he had, if it would destroy him to read it. It probably would, as he thought back to their first weeks in lockdown, remembering how he had treated Martin with little to no respect. He couldn’t blame him.

“No, right, right, I’m sorry I asked. I shouldn’t have. I understand that it’s- it’s something private. We don’t have to talk about it.”

Martin didn’t look at Jon as they fell back into an awkward silence. They kept walking, coming to another junction, and this time, Martin simply indicated the direction without really looking at Jon, walking on. Jon wondered if he had overstepped or offended Martin, and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. He was distracted by a man with a dog, walking towards them. The path Martin had chosen wasn’t very wide and there were fences on each side, not leaving much space to step out of the way. Unconsciously, Jon fell behind, walking not so much next to Martin but behind him, hiding from view. Martin kept slowing down, apparently expecting Jon to catch up, but the man with the dog was coming closer and closer, and Jon focussed on them only. They were barely two meters away when the dog caught Jon’s eye and he jumped, towards Martin, dropping all caution about keeping the distance between them. He didn’t touch him, although he felt a great urge to grab his sleeve and tug his arm in front of his body, a protection between him and the canine. It took barely more than a few seconds and the dog passed them peacefully, not even barking, just waving his tail ever so slightly. Jon let the breath he had been holding in out through his nose, and Martin chuckled. It was the sound of his laugh that made Jon realise just how close they were, and he looked up into the other’s eyes.

“Not a big fan of dogs, are you?”

Jon could feel his shoulders relax as Martin spoke, realising that he was close enough to _smell_ Martin, and oh god, it was almost too much for him to take in. He nodded before stepping aside, back to where he should be and felt his chest ache with a desire to do everything but that. He cleared his throat.

“No, uh, I do prefer cats, I’m afraid,” he wiped his hands on his trousers, and tried to calm his racing heart. “What about you?”

“Are you asking me if I’m a cat or a dog person?” Martin seemed quite amused by that, but Jon simply shrugged. “Please don’t make me choose. I couldn’t do that to them. I just couldn’t, they’re all adorable.”

_You’re adorable_ , Jon thought and cursed himself. He considered Martin’s words for a moment, and then continued.

“Alright. Would you rather go to the beach or the mountains?”

Jon might have looked up questions like these beforehand, memorising them just in case. He had felt utterly embarrassed by typing in _first date questions_ into his phone but had read through four different articles anyway. He knew it wasn’t a date, it was just Martin being a friend after listening to him whining. But still, he figured that it wouldn’t hurt to ask them.

“Oh? Hm, I think I might prefer the mountains? A bit more serene, I figure? And I tend to get sunburnt easily, so- yes. Mountains. What about you?”

“Well, I grew up in Bournemouth, so the sea does have its, ah, _nostalgic appeal_ to me. I’ve never really been on a mountain. But I- I have this- this strange need to go to the Scottish Highlands someday. They appeal to me, somehow.”

Martin nodded animatedly and Jon smiled at him in return. The feelings he had developed over the last weeks weren’t diminishing. He hadn’t expected them to, not really, but he also hadn’t expected to feel so fiercely, to have them confirmed and enhanced and multiplied by every single word Martin was saying, by every movement, by every smile and every stutter, by the blush of his cheeks and the way the sunlight peeking through the clouds hit his hair. The feelings in his chest were so loud, overflowing, trying to break out of him, out of his throat through words. He gulped, hoping it would keep them down. Hoping that Martin wouldn’t notice as they continued walking.

“Alright,” Martin mused. “My turn now. I have a good one. Would you rather lose the ability to read or lose the ability to speak?”

“Speak,” Jon said without even thinking about it. It surprised him, how easily it rolled off his tongue.

“Oh! Me too,” Martin was laughing again. Jon bit the inside of his cheek. “Would- would you tell me why?”

“Well, ah, I don’t- I don’t think it’s that important to be able to speak. There are other ways to communicate your thoughts. I wouldn’t mind learning how to use sign language, actually. I’m rather interested in it. But not being able to read? It sounds awfully restricting. Don’t know how I’d be able to work if I wasn’t able to read.”

“Work? Wow, really, Jon?” Martin’s eyebrows were raised in disbelief and Jon felt his face grow warm.

“It’s- it’s important, alright?” he responded, but smiled a little all the same. “Okay, now, Martin, tell me; would you rather know the history of every object you touched or be able to talk to animals?”

“Animals! How is that even a contender! Obviously!” he seemed almost offended by the question and Jon’s smile grew even bigger.

“Oh, no. I must disagree. I’d rather know the history of every object.” Martin scoffed at his words.

“Honestly, Jon, which objects are you thinking about? You think you can just walk into the Natural History Museum and start touching stuff? I mean, I- I don’t want to know that the parts of my cell phone were probably created by modern-day slaves, but I do want to talk to that bird over there,” Martin pointed at a sparrow that was picking at the gravel on the ground, trying to find something edible.

“Oh, so, what you’re saying is, that you’d rather live in blissful ignorance than face the facts?”

“I didn’t say that! I am _aware_ of our socioeconomic issues, well, some at least, and I am _trying_ to live a more sustainable life, to work against that, but there are still certain- certain areas that- that just make it difficult, you know? Also, seriously, Jon. There are enough historians out there that can try to figure out stuff about _objects_. But being the first person to actually be able to talk to _animals_? Are you serious? How would you say no to that?”

Martin did make a convincing argument. Also, hearing him talk about socioeconomic issues made Jon want to kiss him right on his beautiful mouth so badly that he had to look at the scenery instead. They had reached the lake, and it was quite a beautiful thing to look at. Not as lovely as Martin though.

“Hm, yes, alright. I see your point. Ah, would- shall we sit down?” Jon gestured at the benches in front of them. Only a few were occupied, leaving enough empty for them to find a place. From there they had a great view of the lake.

“Oh! Oh, yes, sure!” Martin appeared to be blushing again as they chose an empty bench, making sure to sit as far apart from each other as possible, each on one end, to maintain the appropriate distance between them. There were other people doing the exact same thing, so Jon felt safe to do so. They fell back into silence as they looked at the lake and Jon noticed quite a few different birds there.

“Which one would you talk to first?” he asked Martin as he pointed towards them. Martin chuckled, before straightening himself, craning his neck to get a good look at all of them. Apparently, that didn’t suffice, because he stood back up and walked closer to the lake.

“Alright, so I believe there are some ducks, those are Mallards, those ones… I think they’re called Tufted ducks? Ah, yes, pigeons, obviously… Jon, there are so many! Over there are some swans and, oh, I think that’s- that’s a Greylag goose? And that one is also a goose, Canadian goose, or something. Or was it Canada goose? Not sure,” he pointed at each as he spoke, and did it once again before returning to Jon, who tried not to fall in love with him even harder. _Bird knowledge_. He had not expected Martin to have any.

“Okay, alright, let me think about it,” he said as he sat back down. “I think the one with the most experience has got to be the pigeon, but it’s seen the city mostly, right? So maybe one of the ducks? The Tufted ducks look a bit intimidating, so I’d probably go for the Mallards.”

“Not the swans?”

“What, those pompous bastards?” Martin exhaled through his lips. “Please.”

“Oh, prejudiced against birds, are we, Martin?”

Martin gasped in mock offense and held one of his hands against his chest.

“I mean, have you _seen_ them, Jon? Yes, they’re beautiful, but they’re the kind that _knows_ they are beautiful.”

“So? Who says that there has got to be a correlation between beauty, and, what, experience? Intelligence? What are you implying, Martin?”

Martin opened his mouth to reply but stopped himself. He furrowed his brow, looking back at the swans.

“Alright. I get it, I shouldn’t have _assumed_ anything about them just because they’re beautiful,” he nodded sternly before shouting “Sorry!” towards the swans. It made a woman and a child turn their heads towards them as they walked by. Martin looked a bit embarrassed but smiled at them, nonetheless.

They fell back into silence, this time a comfortable one, as they watched the different types of birds move around, watched the people that passed by, and Jon tried to watch Martin, too, but it was hard not getting caught doing so, as the other always seemed to meet his eye when he tried.

“So,” Jon started, wanting to pick up the conversation again. “Tim and Sasha? Are they an item now?”

“Oh, um,” Martin shifted on the bench, turning his upper body towards Jon, away from the lake. “I’m not sure actually, if they’re like- actually together now. They were both at Tim’s flat today, at least, from what I’ve gathered.”

“Right. So, you already talked to them today?”

“Ah, yes. They- they, uh- we just had a chat,” Martin shrugged, and Jon wondered about what, but felt like it wasn’t his place to ask.

“And, uh, are you?” Jon asked before he could stop himself. The question had been plaguing him for weeks, months even, at this point, and asking it was a relief, even if his hands felt sweaty, even if it was a risk to ask.

“What?” Martin looked at him in confusion.

“Um, are you- are you going out with anyone?”

“I- oh, uh, am I…?” Jon felt like he was watching Martin process his words, and for a moment, he was scared that it had been too obvious to ask that, that it was giving him away. Maybe Martin wasn’t comfortable to share such private details about him. Jon couldn’t demand that of him. But Martin kept talking. “N- no? I mean, obviously, I’m not- I’m, uh… No.”

“Oh,” was Jon’s clever remark. His cheeks felt awfully warm as he looked at Martin, not directly at him, but at his hands in his lap, at the way he was kneading them nervously. “Right. Me neither.”

“Oh! Right!” there was something in Martin’s voice that made Jon look up, at his face, and there was an expression there waiting for him which made the ache in his chest feel even heavier. Martin looked at him with such open delight that Jon felt like he might faint and slip from the bench. Instead, he stood up, abruptly, not being able to look at the other any longer.

“Shall- shall we keep going?”

“Yes! Sure. Why not,” Martin stood up as well, and soon they fell back into a walking pace that was comfortable for both of them, continuously walking next to the lake. Jon noticed a lot of couples holding hands, sitting close to each other on the grass or even kissing each other, and he had trouble deciding where to look. Looking at those strangers felt intrusive and looking at Martin only made him imagine being with him in a similar fashion, which was both unrealistic and inappropriate. He was almost glad to be distracted by another encounter with two dogs. Martin stepped in front of him, shielding Jon with his body without being asked to do so, as if it was the most natural thing to do.

“I guess I can’t really ask to pet them, right now, anyway, you know,” he said as the two dogs waddled past them, followed by two women that didn’t seem to take any notice of them. “I would but I don’t want to- to get too close, I guess?”

“Right,” Jon answered, staying behind Martin’s back until they had passed them and sighed in relief. “Yes. I just- it’s not that I’m actually _afraid_ of them, I just- just have a lot of respect for- for them and their set of teeth.”

Martin glanced back at the dogs, both small in size, and back at Jon, almost disbelieving, but Jon didn’t let himself be deterred by Martin’s doubt. He straightened his back and continued walking, changing the subject by asking Martin about his favourite season. He had sworn to himself that he wasn’t going to talk about work, and so far, he was succeeding.

“Oh, I don’t want to sound all too cheesy, but I’d have to go with spring, I think? I mean, just… life? Awaking all around you?” Jon tried not to roll his eyes, not even fondly, but Martin must have guessed what he was thinking anyway. “Okay, yeah, I get it, but I mean just- just look at those flowers over there! A metaphor for new beginnings, every single year. And those first rays of sunshine hitting your face when the air doesn’t feel so cold? And, and yet, the heat is not killing you, and you still get to wear- wear whatever you’re comfortable with? I do like spring. It does something to my mood, too. It helps.”

Jon nodded, not sure what exactly he meant by that last sentence. They turned left, now walking down Central Avenue, the path broad, easy to keep a distance not just between each other but also with any dogs that passed by. Martin asked him the same question.

“I’d say it’s autumn. It’s easier to focus when it’s not as warm, and I do like the sound of rain, although, I guess, that also sounds a bit cliché, doesn’t it, Mister Poet?” Martin grinned and Jon kept going. “People tend to be a bit more subdued in fall, not as obtruding, as there aren’t as many events. They let you be in autumn. They let you live in peace.”

They had reached the bandstand of the park, an open space surrounded by trees with the construction right in the middle, but Jon didn’t pay it much attention as Martin talked about not being a big fan of social gatherings either, especially when there was a big crowd, and Jon fell and fell and fell for him. They kept talking as they strolled over the site as a sudden gust of wind made Jon shiver. He was reminded by the fact that a jacket would have been a smart idea, as Martin regarded him carefully. They had barely walked two more steps as Martin came to a halt next to him and started taking off the bomber jacket he was wearing.

“What- what are you doing?”

“I am handing you my jacket.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am! Try to stop me.”

“Martin, that’s- that’s not ne- necessary…“ Jon’s mind went blank as he watched Martin’s underarms being revealed by the sudden lack of a jacket. The size of them was a thing of beauty and he knew he was staring, knew that he had to get a grip on himself.

“Take it! I run hot, anyway.”

Martin was holding out the jacket now, expectantly waiting for Jon to take it from him. He sighed and furrowed his brow, trying to disguise the joy running through him, trying to act like it wasn’t something that made his heart dance. As he took it, his fingers brushed against Martin’s, ever so slightly, and he gasped softy at the touch.

“I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t- didn’t mean to,” he breathed, cursing himself for being so starved for a human touch that he felt weak in his knees from just that. But it wasn’t just any touch. Of course, _he_ made him feel that way. Martin’s face showed something he couldn’t recognise, and Jon made haste to put on the jacket to distract from the moment. As he did so, he was overwhelmed by the scent of _Martin_ , and realised that it felt warm, still, warm from the heat of his body. He took a deep breath, trying to disguise it as a yawn, as he took it all in and wondered how likely it was for him to pass out right there on the spot.

“And, uh, you’re sure you’re okay with that?” Jon felt like he was obligated to ask, even though he really had no intention of giving the jacket back any time soon.

“Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had SO MUCH FUN writing this one (once again)!!! So I really hope you like it too! :D
> 
> Also, I feel like we're getting closer to the finish line guys... we're getting there... maybe..... I have at least two more chapters for you, maybe more, we'll see! ❤️


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! I had parts of this chapter in mind ever since starting this fic back in March, so I'm glad to finally share it with you :D
> 
> As always, I must thank [my friend Anna](http://annbun.tumblr.com/) for keeping me motivated and killing me with her feedback.
> 
> I really hope you'll enjoy this one!! <3

Martin couldn’t remember the last time he had felt as euphoric as he did on his way home from the park. They had spent hours, _hours_ talking to each other, getting so lost in their conversation that Martin had been surprised to see the sun setting. It hadn’t felt that long at all as they were laughing, bantering, enjoying each other’s company. He hadn’t wanted to say goodbye either and if the circumstances had been different, he might have felt brave enough to ask Jon to come over for a cup of tea. Although, thinking about it, it didn’t sound like a thing he would actually dare to ask, even if Jon had acted quite peculiar at times.

_Are you going out with anyone?_

The question did not leave him, a constant echo in his mind. Why would anyone ask that? Why would _Jon_ ask that? It wasn’t possible that Jon had actual interest in his love life. Maybe he had felt obligated to ask, as they were becoming friends – just a way for Jon to get to know him. At least, he now knew for certain that Jon was single, too. It did not necessarily change anything, not really, except that it still did, somehow. He couldn’t stop smiling.

Jon had tried to return the jacket to Martin before they had parted ways, but Martin had taken advantage of the situation and had managed to convince him that he could keep it. It was an excuse for them to see each other again, an unspoken and hopeful invitation for another meeting. And it wasn’t just that, but Jon had looked quite precious in it as well. They had even exchanged numbers, as Jon had spoken about _making it easier to communicate, you know, just in case of course_. It was strange, but it somehow felt a lot more private, to have somebody else’s phone number. The way they communicated would basically stay the same, but the platform would change. It did make a difference.

Martin felt hungry as he finally opened to the door to his flat. The walk home had felt like it had taken him barely any time at all. He skipped into the kitchen, feeling energetic enough to prepare himself something to eat instead of just eating whatever fell into his hands, and giggled as he did so, amused by his own giddiness. It was quite a difference to his usual days during the lockdown. He washed his hands first, used to doing so as soon as he got home, and then started working on some cheese toasties. His phone chimed, telling him he had received a text message and he almost dropped the knife he was holding as he fumbled to read it. His thoughts went straight to Jon. He tried not to be too disappointed that it was just Tim, asking him how the date had gone. As he removed the first toast from his sandwich maker, he considered his reply. There was no way that he’d be able to convey everything he felt in a text message.

_It was nice :)_ was what he replied instead, knowing that Tim wouldn’t be satisfied with that kind of answer, but finding it fun to act mysterious. He grabbed a plate and sat down, all while humming to himself. He felt wonderful. The food made it even better.

_??? ? MARTIN!!! come ON, details please! sasha wants to know if you kissed?? did you kiss him, martin???_

The message made Martin wonder whether he wasn’t the only one to lie about his age on his CV, as he felt like he was texting with a teenager. He smiled, nonetheless, as he typed his reply.

_No, we didn’t kiss. I lent him my jacket though? He was shivering and didn’t bring one. And we talked a lot. And laughed a lot, too. Oh, and we exchanged numbers._

He had barely taken another bite as the reply came in.

_you’re insufferable. both of you. just kiss already._

Martin shook his head, knowing that even if Jon would return his feelings, which was ridiculous, Jon wouldn’t _kiss_ him, not during a worldwide pandemic. Of course, _he_ would if Jon was okay with it. He had no contact with his mother at the moment and there weren’t really any friends in his life except for Tim and Sasha that he could harm, so he had nothing to lose, really.

He was just getting done with washing up when his phone chimed again. He expected it to be another message from Tim as he wiped his hands dry and unlocked it. Instead of reading another one of Tim’s ridiculous suggestions, he read Jon’s name. Martin forgot to breathe for a moment.

_Thank you for today. And for the jacket. I had a great time._

Martin pressed the phone against his chest and danced through his kitchen, unable to stand still. He was trying not to squeak with pleasure, but did so, anyway. He looked at his phone again and let himself sink onto his floor, leaning his back against the kitchen cabinet. Every single heartbeat felt like it was whispering Jon’s name as he typed his reply.

_Me too!! Thanks for putting up with me haha_

He waited anxiously for a reply, his right leg bouncing without him even noticing it.

_No need to be self-depreciating, Martin. You’re good company :)_

He closed his eyes as he let his head fall back against the cabinet, sighing deeply. Good company. And a smiley face. He grinned and decided to be bold.

_So are you ;)_

That night, Martin wrote another poem about Jon. He thought about the way Jon had met his eyes whenever he had tried to steal a glance at him. About Jon’s appearance and how he had looked with his hair in a bun. How Jon had asked engaging questions and made him laugh and made him blush. About the way Jon’s fingers had brushed against his, barely enough to count, and yet sufficiently making Martin shiver just thinking about it.

He fell asleep that night already knowing that he’d dream about him.

\---

Martin spent the Sunday in quiet solitude. He wanted nothing more than to talk to Jon and yet, at the same time, he was afraid of coming off as pushy or needy, after having spent an entire afternoon with him the day before. He felt so unsure about the right way to approach Jon and he didn’t want to ruin whatever it was that they had developed between each other. So, he refrained from messaging or calling Jon, instead focussing on chores that were long overdue. By the end of the day, he felt like he had been quite productive as his whole flat was clean, his clothes were drying, and the dishes were stored away. He spent the evening watching Netflix and pretended that the productiveness was enough to substitute a conversation with Jon. As he lay in bed, trying to fall asleep, he had to admit that it was nowhere near as fulfilling.

On Monday, he decided to change his course of action. He wanted more. He wanted to be _seen_ by Jon, wanted to open up and deepen their connection. There was no way that he would actually tell him about the way he felt with words, but maybe, he could show him through his actions. And then it was for Jon to decide what he was going to do with that.

Martin stepped it up a notch wherever he could. During every meeting with him, he made sure to compliment the other, sometimes commenting his look, sometimes commenting his very being. He asked him about his plans for the day and made sure to include questions that were unrelated to work. Jon stammered his replies, sometimes fleeing from their conversation with a bad excuse but Martin didn’t give up. He wanted to show his affection. He wasn’t going to hide it any longer.

On Friday afternoon, the archival assistants received a message.

_No private calls today. Something came up. Have a good weekend._

_-JS_

Martin’s first instinct was to worry. In fact, he spent an entire hour worrying and thinking through the possible scenarios of whatever happened to Jon that had him abandoning his workplace responsibilities. He was still thinking about it, only pretending to work, when his phone started vibrating. Someone was calling him.

His heart did a very strange thing as he read Jon’s name on the phone screen. His worry started to increase immediately. He picked up.

“Jon? Jon, are you alright? Did something happen?” Martin couldn’t disguise the concern in his voice, and he didn’t bother trying to.

“Ah, hm, yes. I- I just- are you at home?” Jon sounded out of breath but besides that, not any different than usual.

“Am I…? Yes? What’s going on?”

“Hm, well. I- I must admit that I really didn’t think this through too much, but I just- I’m at your flat. Well, at least, I- I think I am. God, I really- I shouldn’t have done that. I know, it’s- it’s not right. You know what? I think I’ll just go home, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking…”

Martin felt like he was frozen right on the spot. He could hear Jon’s breath through his phone.

“What do you mean you’re at my flat?”

“I- would you come to the window? You mentioned where you lived on Saturday, and, well, I just- ah”

As Jon spoke, Martin was already moving, almost running towards one of the windows, the one right next to his desk. He opened it with almost too much force, leaned out and looked down at the street in front of him.

Jon was standing there. Wonderful, incredible, marvellous Jon.

“I just needed to see you,” Jon said, looking directly at him, letting the hand holding his phone sink down. Martin was glad that he was holding onto the window frame, afraid that his legs might give in. “I- I mean,” Jon continued, “I needed to see you to return this jacket to you.”

Only then Martin noticed how Jon was clutching onto his bomber jacket with his other hand and he chuckled. This was insane.

“Right. Okay. Did you take the tube? You know we’re not supposed to unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Oh. Ah, no. I actually- I walked here.”

“You- you walked?” Martin thought about the distance between his flat and Jon’s, making a rough estimate of it in his head. “That must have taken you an hour, at least.”

Jon shrugged as if it was nothing.

“I mean, Tim’s always nagging me about staying fit anyway, so-“

“Oh, yes. Sure. Staying healthy. Right,” Martin teased, unconvinced by that excuse. He couldn’t stop grinning, “Well, are you going to serenade me?” he resumed. He felt giddy, leaning out of his window while Jon stood there, looking up at him. This time, it was Jon who chuckled.

“I didn’t come prepared for that.”

“That’s a shame. I do like your voice, you know.”

Jon fell quiet, the smile on his face a shy one. Martin enjoyed the moment, taking him in. Only then he realised that it was probably a good idea to actually join him.

“Well, um, I’ll come downstairs, alright? Just- just hold on for a moment.”

He wondered whether it was worth it to change his clothes, as he was still wearing comfortable loungewear. He felt impatient to go to Jon, but still changed into some other trousers, feeling too self-conscious to stay in the joggers he was wearing. He then grabbed his keys, rushing through his flat, out of his door and down the stairs as fast as he could. He ran his hands through his hair as he took two steps at once, the grin on his face starting to hurt his cheeks. Jon had come to see him. Jon had walked all the way here, to _see him_.

“Hi!” Martin said as soon as he was out through the front door of the building, resisting the urge to hug Jon as he approached him. It was torture, to see him and having to keep a distance when all he wanted to do was _feel_ the other. It had been so long since Martin had hugged someone that he felt an ache in his chest. Jon looked put together, wearing what appeared to be a thin, olive-green jumper and some dark trousers. His hair was tied back, showcasing his face nicely. Martin put his hands into his pockets, to keep them from doing something foolish.

“Hello, Martin,” Jon’s smile was warm and welcoming. He held out the jacket towards him. “Thank you, again.”

“Not a problem,” Martin replied, stepping forward, disappointed that they didn’t accidentally touch this time, as he took the jacket from Jon. He stepped back again. “Uh, well, I’d invite you in, but I don’t think we’re allowed to-“

“Oh, no, please, don’t feel pressured to, ah, spend time with me. I shouldn’t have just come here without asking you first. I- I’m sorry.”

“No need to feel sorry for that, Jon. I think it’s endearing. And I do prefer talking to you face to face, anyway.”

“Oh,” Jon said, barely audible. He cleared his throat. “Right.”

At that moment, Jon looked at him with such an intensity that Martin didn’t dare to breathe. There was something about his expression that made him shiver, made him wonder what Jon saw in him. Like he was something _more_ , something else. The sensation hung in the air between them, heavily – like electricity about to discharge.

“Would you- would you like to have a walk? There’s a park close by, we could go there? Together?” he offered, unable to bear it any longer.

Jon dropped his gaze, instead looking at his feet, as he appeared to think about the suggestion.

“Ah, no, I think it’s best for me to head home. I- I do have some more work waiting for me, I’m afraid.”

“Oh. Right, no, I understand,” Martin knew his voice must give away the disappointment he felt. “Thank you for stopping by. And for giving this back,” he indicated the jacket.

“Of course. I’ll- I’ll be seeing you, Martin.”

And just as abruptly as he had appeared, Jon left again. Martin felt quite dumbstruck by his actions. It didn’t make a lot of sense to him. He spent an entire hour walking just to return his jacket, even abandoning his work to do so. But then, the notion of spending more time with Martin apparently didn’t appeal to him. He sighed and went back into his flat, trying to remember the joy of seeing Jon and not focussing on the hurt he felt by his farewell.

\---

All of a sudden, Jon was avoiding him. Two weeks passed without them sharing any private conversations whatsoever and it was driving Martin mad. Tim and Sasha had no real explanation for the way Jon acted either. He was perfectly normal during the day, talking about the statements and their meaninglessness just like he had all the time before that. But as soon as Martin even _tried_ to contact him after official work hours, Jon had either turned off all his devices or found a lame excuse to keep away from him.

The first week, Martin pretended to have no clue as to why Jon was behaving in such a way and acted like it didn’t bother him. It was easy enough to do so when he stood in the shower, pretending that the shampoo in his eyes was making them water.

The second week, he had to admit that deep down, he had known the answer right from the start. And that crying didn’t seem to help, not in the shower, nor outside of it.

Jon had figured out the way Martin felt about him. He was too polite to deny him, maybe even cared enough that he didn’t want to hurt Martin, and that is why he was now refusing to talk to him, in the hopes of Martin figuring it out on his own. A way to tell Martin that he didn’t return his feelings, and to let them die down quietly. After that, they could all pretend that it never happened, and move on with their lives.

It was the only thing that made sense to him. He wondered what it was that he had said to finally make Jon realise. It was hard to tell in retrospect, as he had dropped enough hints over the last weeks to make it happen any time. And Martin had to admit that this outcome had always been a possibility, the most likely of them all, even. He just hadn’t wanted to believe it as they had laughed and talked and _shared_. He had dared to hope.

It was now a Saturday evening at the beginning of June and Martin felt absolutely miserable. The one thing he had feared to happen – to lose the friendship he had carefully developed with Jon – had occurred. His attempts to try and get Jon to talk to him came to nothing. Tim and Sasha tried to help, but Jon proved himself to be stubborn enough to ignore them, too.

But being miserable didn’t help. Martin decided to take action. Even if his theory proved itself to be true, he still had the right to hear so directly from Jon.

He video-called Sasha.

“Hey, Martin,” her voice was soft and compassionate. Even that hurt, to be pitied by her. “How are you?”

“Fine. Could you tell me Jon’s exact address?”

She looked at him with suspicion in her eyes. There was no doubt that she knew what he was going to do with that information. And yet, she simply nodded.

„Sure, hold on one second, will you?“

Half an hour later, Martin left his apartment with the address typed into his phone, showing him the way. If Jon could walk an hour and give him a surprise-visit, so could he.

He felt angry at Jon for choosing to avoid him instead of talking to him about the situation. His empathetic side told him that he might have acted similarly, but the pain he felt was louder than that. The music thundering through his headphones helped to fuel his rage.

The evening was quite chilly, and he hugged his jacket closer to his body as he made his way through London, over the Thames and with every step closer to Jon. The streets were more crowded now than they had been just weeks ago, the easing of the lockdown rules showcasing their impact. Soon enough, he had reached the building complex that Sasha had reconnoitred for him. Standing in front of it, his foolish bravery seemed to waver quite a bit. But he had walked all this way, he wasn’t going to quit now. He felt a strange connection to how Jon must have felt standing in front of his own flat, but then shook the feeling off. No, they were not similar in that way. Jon clearly didn’t have any interest. And yet, Martin wanted to hear him say that himself.

He removed the headphones, took out his phone and let his finger hover over Jon’s name. Just a simple call to tell him that he had mimicked his action. He was entitled to do so. He had no reason to feel ashamed.

He pressed call.

Martin did not have enough time to wonder if Jon was even going to pick up. It only rang once before he heard the familiarity of his voice.

„Martin? It’s late- what do you need?”

„I’m- I’m outside.”

„Outside?”

„Yes. I’m here. At your flat. I want to talk.”

„You’re- hang on.”

He heard the sound of movement in the background and soon enough, he watched one of the balcony doors in front of him open, revealing Jon, dishevelled and yet absolutely wonderful in his whole appearance. Martin was mad, but he wasn’t blind.

„You’re here.”

Martin took his time, tapping the screen of his phone to end the call and putting the phone back into his pocket.

„Yes, I’m here, Jon. You- you gave me no choice. We haven’t talked! In so long! And I- I miss you.”

He hadn’t meant to vocalise that last part, but the truth of it was like a heavy dog lying on his chest, weighing him down, making it hard to breathe. Jon sighed as he leaned against the banister of his balcony, looking down at Martin. He lived on the second floor and therefore wasn’t too far away from him. They didn’t even have to shout.

„I’m- I’m sorry, Martin. It’s- it’s complicated.”

„Yeah? Oh, please, explain it to me, then. Don’t worry, I have nothing else going for me at the moment,” he knew he sounded hurt as he crossed his arms but this time, he didn’t mind Jon knowing. He ought to know how he made him feel.

„I’m- I can’t really talk about it, Martin.”

„Oh, really? Are you sure? Because we are going to talk about it. Right now. I won’t leave until we do.”

Jon sighed again, but Martin knew he was giving in.

“Alright,” he said, and Marin felt like he sounded almost sad. Defeated, definitely. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to explain to me what I did to you. I- I feel like… I made- I made you... I probably made you uncomfortable. And I really, really don’t want you to feel that way. I mean- I understand. I understand that- it’s not what you want, but all I am asking for is for you to say it, straight to my face, instead of just- of disappearing. It hurts, and I’m angry at you. It’s not fun, having to guess what you’re feeling. I want to hear you say it.”

“You- you don’t want me to say what I’m feeling,” Jon replied.

“Yes! Come on, now, tell me you- you hate me, or whatever. Tell me you find me repulsive, I don’t know, just-“

“Martin,” there was something like pleading it Jon’s voice, urging him to stop. It made Martin fall silent, instantly. “It’s not that. It really- it really isn’t that.”

Jon was now pressing his hands against his face, and Martin couldn’t tell if it was from exhaustion or desperation.

“Then what is it, Jon? Why have you been ignoring me?” the softness had returned to Martin’s voice and he let it. Being angry didn’t suit him, anyway.

“I-“ Jon started, but stopped. He groaned and started pacing the small space of his balcony. If the situation hadn’t been so grave, Martin might have chuckled from the sight. “I- I almost did something foolish, that last time that- that we met. When I returned that jacket to you.”

Martin’s mind started racing, thinking back to those short moments of interaction. He couldn’t remember anything odd, except for Jon’s sudden parting.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about, I’m afraid,” he replied, as Jon didn’t appear to continue with his so-called explanation.

“No, of course not. Well-“ Jon took several breaths, and then didn’t look at Martin. “I- I almost kissed you that day.”

Martin felt like that turned off his brain and entire body, too, successfully. He stood there, absolutely stunned, unable to respond. He couldn’t feel his hands, or his feet. He wasn’t sure if he was still breathing. Jon took a look at him and winced, visibly, before continuing.

“Look, Martin, I know, it’s not right, I’m your boss, and especially _now,_ I mean, I couldn’t, I wouldn’t- but I was so- I was just _so close_ , I had to calm down and you had been so _nice_ to me all week and especially after that- that day in the park, when you gave me your jacket, I couldn’t- couldn’t stop thinking about it. About- about you.”

“Jon,” Martin voice shook, and he was afraid that he would start crying. He could barely talk. “Jon, god- that- _Jon_.”

“I thought that if I kept my distance, I might- might manage to restrain it, and- I’m sorry. It’s- it’s so inappropriate of me and I can’t _bear_ to burden you with it. But- but I can I promise to never mention it again- I was just… You kept being such a nice- nice person, and I feel like I-“

“Jon,” Martin said again, this time more clearly. “I wasn’t just being nice to you. I was flirting with you.”

This time, it was Jon’s turn to fall silent. Martin started laughing, feeling overwhelmed by what Jon had said, feeling like his heart had expanded and was about to burst in his chest. He couldn’t _believe_ it.

“Wait, wait- Martin, wait. What?”

“I like you; you fool. And I wouldn’t mind a kiss right about now.”

Jon held onto the bannister as he leaned back, his whole body straight, exclaiming with joy into the sky above. It was quite a sight and Martin couldn’t help himself but laugh again. Jon then sank onto his knees, holding onto the banister, looking through the bars at him with pleading eyes.

“You _like_ me? Are- are you sure?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m sure! God,” Martin’s hands found their way into his hair, tugging on it, trying to convince himself that this wasn’t another one of his dreams. “Jon! Can you just- can you come down please?”

“But- but we can’t! We’re- we’re not- we’re not allowed. Not right now, at least.”

“Fuck,” Martin groaned, frustrated, but understanding. In all of his fantasies, in all of his daydreams, that had never been the issue. Social distancing. It was keeping them apart. “Right. Fuck. I just- I really want to, you know. And I will. I will as soon as they let me, I swear. I’ll kiss you so hard that- that-“

Jon had the audacity to grin at him.

“That what, Martin?”

“That you’ll never want me to stop. We’ll have to tell Elias that we’re- we’re sick or something. Not with the virus, of course, that would be inappropriate. But I won’t let you out of my arms once I get a hold of you, I can promise you that.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yes. _Yes_. God, Jon. Why- why didn’t you _say_ anything?”

“I- I didn’t know how you would react. I was afraid of losing you.”

“Well, in those last two weeks, you almost did.”

“I’m- I’m sorry, Martin. It- it wasn’t fair, what I did. I was just- I was terrified.”

Martin sighed. He understood. He understood Jon perfectly well.

“I know, Jon. I know,” he sighed again, looking at Jon. “Wow. You want to kiss me, huh. And I want to kiss you. But we can’t kiss each other. Wow.”

Jon’s face was so full of delight, so open and lovely and wonderful, that Martin felt like he might just sprout wings, fly over there and kiss him, anyway.

“We just have to be patient,” Jon spoke, barely more than a whisper.

Being patient. At least Martin felt confident that he was good at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!
> 
> I wrote most of this chapter in a day so I still feel like it's a mess BUT I also had a lot of fun writing it (once again hahaha).  
> ALSO, I did write an actual poem for Martin this time but I wasn't sure if I should include it or not... so let me know if you're interested in seeing that!
> 
> Your feedback can literally make my day so please, if you enjoyed that chapter, leave a comment, I'd love to hear your thoughts on it <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are BACK with a new chapter! 
> 
> As always, shoutout to [Anna](https://annbun.tumblr.com) for keeping me going and also being as good at guessing the right answers of the game in this chapter as Jon (ily) 
> 
> Also thanks again to [Soren](https://papershield-art.tumblr.com) and [Siarven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siarven/pseuds/Siarven)!! Two incredibly talented people that help me out a lot and let me scream at them about literally anything. Thank you <3
> 
> Anyway: enjoy!

Once again, Jon couldn’t sleep.

This time it was not too much caffeine keeping him awake, nor a statement that needed more research.

It was the thought of Martin. Of holding his hand, of running his fingers through his hair, of stepping into his personal space and taking him into his arms. Of _kissing_ him and _being kissed_ by him.

The possibilities were endless, and his mind wanted to go through them all.

And the best thing about it was that it was no longer a desire accompanied by the awareness of it being unrequited.

It had been three hours since Martin had left, after Jon had tried to convince him that he could walk him home. Martin had refused, because even if he had, Martin would have wanted to walk _Jon_ home in return, and they would have ended up in an endless loop of accompanying each other on their way to their flats. Or maybe until the sun would have risen. It did not actually sound that bad, after all, and Jon wondered whether Martin would have been up for it.

_Martin_. He felt like going back out and shouting his name from the balcony, loud enough for all of London to hear him. Martin!

He grabbed his phone from his nightstand and checked the time. It was half past two in the morning. Jon felt reckless, a part of him that he had left behind years ago reawakening inside of him. He started typing.

_I can’t fall sleep._

_I can’t stop thinking about you._

He pressed send and let the phone drop on top of his duvet, suddenly embarrassed by what he had written, not wanting to look at it any longer. Just as he was considering getting up and watching a documentary to fall asleep to, his phone vibrated with a reply. It was almost enough to be embarrassed again by the speed of his hand grabbing his phone.

_Me neither. I just want to be with you._

There was a very strange noise escaping Jon’s throat, almost too alien to be coming out of his mouth as he read Martin’s words and he was glad he was on his own. It was one thing to hear his affection being returned but another thing to see it written down so explicitly. He closed his eyes, letting the feeling in, letting the warmth of those two sentences wash over him, before checking to see if they were still there. He started typing a reply, letting his fingers take over before he could think it through.

_I’d like that, very much. I wish I could fall asleep in your arms right now._

Jon was surprised by his own honesty, feeling like his confession earlier and Martin’s response had intoxicated him in a way alcohol never could. His face felt hot. And it was late. His feelings always seemed to become enhanced during the night. Martin didn’t make him wait very long.

_I’d wrap them around you so tightly that you’d never want to leave._

\---

Jon awoke on Sunday feeling lighter than he had in years, like he might just float away as soon as he’d get out of bed. He skipped into his kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee. The digital clock on his oven told him that it was already past ten am and he tried to remember the last time he had slept in like that. Even the yawn escaping him was a content one. Every passing minute vibrated with the knowledge of his feelings being returned, of Martin wanting to spend time with him, possibly even kissing him, if they were ever allowed to do that. The thoughts gave him more of a boost that the coffee in his hand as he went back into his bedroom. He checked his phone to find a text message waiting there for him.

_Good morning <3_

Jon’s chest ached with something he didn’t dare to name. His finger brushed over the heart symbol, as if he wanted to see if it would remain there even if he did so. It felt a little like he had fallen into an alternative reality, like everything that had happened just hours ago was simply too wonderful to happen to him. And yet, there he was, staring at a text message that included a ruddy little heart symbol by none other than Martin Blackwood. Never had he expected to be so delighted by something so small.

He wondered whether he ought to tell Elias about them and then instantaneously decided not to. Nobody needed to know, at least for now. Tim and Sasha would find out soon enough, Jon was sure of that but until then it could just be something between him and Martin.

Him and Martin. Something tingled inside of Jon at the thought of it, of them, together.

He took a sip of his coffee and texted Martin back, making sure to also include a heart symbol in his message although it made him feel quite silly as he did so.

His usual Sundays included preparatory work for the week ahead, sorting through statements and bringing together the notes and the feedback of his assistants. This Sunday, Jon couldn’t find himself to stay still for more than ten minutes, getting up from his desk, looking out through the window, lying down on his couch to pet the Admiral. He couldn’t stay focused and he didn’t even mind.

Martin video-called him in the afternoon, enticing such joy in him before he even managed to pick up the phone. He moved from his desk to his couch before he answered the call, waking the Admiral in the process. At the moment, Martin was more important than waking the cat.

“Martin,” Jon said fondly, feeling overjoyed to see his face. It earned him a smile in return.

“Hi, Jon. How- how are you? I hope it’s okay for me to call, I don’t want to keep you from anything.”

“You’re not. It’s good- good to see your face, actually.”

“Oh!” Martin’s smile was shy at first but turned into a bit more of a grin soon enough. “Oh, is it?”

Jon couldn’t help but grin at him in return.

“It’s- it’s quite a lovely face to look at, if I were to be honest with you.”

“ _Really_? How come?” Martin was starting to act playful and Jon tried his best not to freak out. Flirting wasn’t exactly his forte. His hand found its way into the fur of the Admiral, calming him down enough to answer.

“Um, well- it’s yours? So- that’s- that’s as lovely as it gets.”

He watched as Martin’s smile got bigger before he hid his face behind his hands, apparently embarrassed, aware of Jon’s sincerity. It made Jon feel quite successful. Maybe flirting wasn’t so hard if all he had to do was say something true. He thought he’d try again.

“Oh, and- and your hair looks like it might be quite nice to the touch. I’d really- I’d really like run my hands through it sometime.”

“Would you?” Martin murmured, looking through the gaps of his fingers.

“Yes. Do you- do you think you’d enjoy that, Martin?”

“I think I’d enjoy any kind of touch by your hand,” there was a pause as both of them let Martin’s words sink in, just the smallest of moments before Martin groaned. “I- I don’t mean- Not like… That- that came out wrong. Sorry.”

Jon felt his stomach drop, anxious about the turn their conversation was taking. He didn’t feel ready for that kind of conversation with Martin just yet, to tell him that there were certain kinds of touches that Jon certainly wasn’t in for, afraid that it would push him away. He decided to change the topic instead.

“Hm, um, have we decided what we’re going to do with Tim and Sasha? Do you- do you want to tell them?”

“Ah, well, I mean, I wanted to talk to you about that. They- they actually know about my feelings for you?”

_My feelings for you._ Whatever fear Jon had felt seconds ago, it vanished with Martin’s words.

“Oh, is that so?” he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Martin had felt enough for him to share it with the others. Martin really did like him. They were going to be okay.

“They’ve known for a while, believe it or not. So, I’m not quite sure how great I’ll be at hiding- hiding _this_. Whatever you want to call it. Oh, but I don’t- I mean, we don’t have to give it a name. I’m quite satisfied with just- knowing that you feel something for me. That’s enough for me. For now.”

Jon nodded. For now. There was a hint of anticipation, a promise of something _more_. An approaching impatience. Jon could relate to that. Martin’s words also made him wonder when the other had started to develop said feelings, but he decided to keep the question for another time.

“I- I wouldn’t mind keeping it secret for now. Not that I don’t feel like literally shouting it from the rooftop, because believe me, Martin, I do,” Martin actually giggled at that and Jon thought he might had to break his own rules, hop onto the tube and kiss him right on his mouth just for that. “But then again, I like the thought of it being something between the two of us. And only us. And I- I don’t want to seem all too unprofessional either, to be honest.”

“Jon. _Jon_ , seriously. You’re going to worry about _that_ , after all the stuff Tim has done over the last weeks? Have we been part of the same Zoom meetings?”

Jon laughed, thinking back to not only Tim’s horrendous wardrobe, but also the times he had been trouser-less, of shaving off his hair as well as drunk-calling him to talk about Martin. Was it really still necessary to try so hard, to act professional in front of his co-workers? His friends?

“No, you’re right. But- even if we told them; what would you say to them? As you said, we’re not exactly…“

Jon struggled to find the right words, his hands moving as if they could help him find them. Boyfriends? Lovers? A couple? Martin nodded, releasing him from his effort to find the right term.

“Yeah. I know. You’re right. Let’s- let’s wait.”

Jon wondered if he was imagining Martin’s disappointment. He wondered if he was keeping him from happiness, if it was a wrong thing to do. But it was just for now. They’d find out, soon enough, he was sure of that. And if Martin wanted to be the one to tell them, if that was something that made him happy, Jon wasn’t going to stop him.

\---

“Tim, it’s a Wednesday. It’s not even late yet.”

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this. Time is an illusion, Jon.”

“I still don’t see a reason for us to be drinking in the middle of the week. In fact, I find it a bit unwise.”

“Personally, I think it’s brilliant,” Tim responded, looking almost proud of himself. Jon watched Sasha roll her eyes. “Also, we’re not just aimlessly drinking. We’re going to play a game and just the losers have to drink. So, Jon, you might just have to try to win and you’ll be fine.”

Jon felt an urge to disagree at that but fell silent as soon as he looked at Martin. The other had texted him earlier, asking him if he’d be up for it. And by his looks, he seemed excited enough about it that Jon had no choice, really. So of course, he had agreed to their video call. Jon had made himself comfortable on his couch and Tim and Sasha appeared to be at their own flats this time, after being together for several days in a row. Jon wasn’t going to question their behaviour.

“Right. Okay.”

“Well, great,” Sasha chimed in. “It’s been too long since our last drinking game, anyway.”

“Right?” Tim replied. “Like, wasn’t that back in March? Or was it April? I swear, this lockdown, it’s doing something with my mind, I can’t believe it’s been _months_ …”

“I don’t recall being part of any drinking games,” Jon hadn’t really meant to say that out loud, and judging from the expressions of the others, they had forgotten that he had not been included. Martin made himself smaller, slipping down from where he was sitting on his own couch.

“Oh, shit, right. It’s because we were total dickheads. Remember that, what, was it the first week? The second? When I absolutely wrecked Sasha by doing more push-ups that her?”

“Hey! Not fair! Sherley was distracting me, as far as I recall!”

“You- you were drinking? All of you?” Jon looked at Martin in disbelief, but he wasn’t offended. He actually thought it was quite humorous. Martin was slipping further down, trying to hide himself from view. “That’s- Well. I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised. I was a bit of a killjoy, back then, wasn’t I?”

“Back then?” Tim asked, and both Sasha and Martin shouted at him in return. Jon laughed, feeling a warmth inside of him growing by their interactions. He had learned to love the way they acted over those past months. He loved it even more, now.

“Are we going to play, or what?” Martin’s voice was shaky, and Jon loved the colour of his cheeks.

“Right. Jon? Do you have an alcoholic beverage in front of you?”

He sighed, taking the glass of wine he had prepared into his hands to show it to the others.

“Yes. I just want to say that I don’t condone or support excessive drinking and if-“

“Yeah, yeah, we get it,” Tim waved a hand in front of him, impatiently.

“Well, what are we playing, anyway, Tim?” Martin asked, straightening himself.

“Let’s start with two truths and one lie. I’ll tell you three things about myself but one of them is a lie. Whoever guesses wrong has to drink.”

A guessing-game. Tim had set Jon up for failure, as he was very bad at guessing. But maybe, he’d learn a new thing or two about Martin in the progress. He hated to admit the fact that he felt excited about it.

“Wait, I’d suggest writing down a number for each truth or lie, so that we’re not influencing each other’s answers and we can just hold up the number once- once we think we know what it is? You know what I mean? Tim always cheats.”

“Hey! But it’s a great idea, Sash,” Tim agreed. Jon was already standing up to grab a piece of paper, a pen and a pair of scissors. He wrote down all three numbers and cut them out. Tim was ripping the paper, while Sasha was busy folding it to rip it neatly. Martin was also using scissors. For some reason, he found it endearing.

“I’ll start,” Tim said, clearing his throat. He took a few more seconds thinking about what he was going to say, but then nodded and continued. “Okay. I’ve died my hair pink once back in sixth form. I’ve never broken a bone in my body and- and I’ve fantasised about every single one of you.”

“Oh, easy,” Sasha said, snorting confidently. It seemed like she was ready to hold up her answer already.

Jon looked at the self-made cards in front of him. Surely, Tim hadn’t fantasised about _him_ , what a ridiculous thought. However, he could imagine the other with pink hair. And yes, maybe, he had somehow managed to not break a single bone in his body. Jon chose number three before nodding, indicating that he was ready.

Martin confirmed that he had chosen an answer as well and Tim gave them a countdown. They held up their cards. All of them showed a different number. Tim grinned at them, apparently satisfied with his ability to lie.

“Sasha’s right. I’ve never dyed my hair. At all, actually.”

“She does have a bit of an advantage,” Martin shrugged as he spoke, taking a sip of his drink. Jon felt something strange in the pit of his stomach.

“Tim- Tim are you saying that–“

“What?” Tim seemed ready to move on, unaware of the confusion he was causing. “Oh! Oh, yes, sure, I’ve had a fantasy or two about you. It’s only natural, I mean, as our boss, I feel like it’s my obligation to do so.”

“Your- your- your _obligation_ ,” Jon felt his face grow hot and he took a sip to distract from it. He ended up swallowing more than he had intended to. He coughed slightly. “Right. Okay. Um, shall we move on?”

“What, are you embarrassed, Jon? Should I- do you want me to go into detail?”

“I- no, I really- I really don’t…”

“Alright!” Sasha clasped her hands together, successfully attracting their attention. “My turn. I’ve saved a man from drowning once. I know every word to Eminem’s _Rap God_ , and yes, I can deliver it flawlessly. And I can speak four different languages.”

“Huh,” Tim said, apparently not quite sure about which of these statements were true. Jon felt like he had no clue. He chose number three again. Sasha gave them the countdown and Jon had once again chosen differently than the others. Both Tim and Martin had chosen the second one.

“Sorry, Sasha, I love you, but there’s no way that you can do _Rap God_ ,” Tim appeared very sure of himself. Jon didn't know the song.

“Well, Stoker, you’re wrong. I speak only three languages. Cheers!”

Jon felt proud for having guessed the right answer and watched as Tim and Martin sipped from their drinks. They all wanted to hear the story of Sasha saving someone from drowning, and so Sasha spent the next minutes recounting the experience. By the end of it, Jon felt quite impressed and made a mental note to never underestimate her again. Tim tried to convince her to do the rap song as well, but Sasha deemed it too soon, as she didn’t feel drunk enough for that yet.

“Jon? Do you- do you want to go first?” Martin asked him, almost sheepishly, as it was their turn to continue.

“Oh, no, please, Martin. Go ahead,” it felt strange to talk to each other so politely, as all he wanted to do was tease Martin, lovingly, of course. He couldn’t, as long as Tim and Sasha were listening.

“Oh- alright! Um, I can juggle. I really hate spicy food. And- and I can speak a little Polish.”

Jon felt startled by all three of Martin’s statements. He couldn’t say for certain which of these things were true and which one was the lie. There was still a lot of Martin Blackwood he had yet to discover. And he couldn’t wait to do so. He tried to imagine Martin juggling, tried to see if he’d be into spicy food and then also tried to imagine him talking Polish. He had to guess, once again. He went for the language. As they held up their little cards, Jon was surprised to see that they were all agreeing.

“Oh! Hah!” Martin beamed at them and then said something that sounded, well, Polish. It did something quite unusual to him. “I really do love spicy food, actually.”

“Martin! Hey, what did you say?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Stoker?”

“I would, very much, yes.” Martin simply shrugged again, clearly not ready to elaborate. Tim sighed in defeat as all of them except Martin drank from their beverages. “Well, Jon, give us something good.”

Jon felt nervous delivering what he had chosen to say. He had nothing to worry about, really, but still. Revealing parts of himself was terrifying to him.

“Well, hm, so… I play several instruments. I- I never learned how to drive. And I thought of becoming a teacher when I was younger.”

“Oh, that’s hot. Professor Sims,” Tim contributed, and Jon caught Martin nodding in agreement, before he stopped abruptly, realising what he was doing. Jon hid his smile behind his hand, a gesture he had seen Martin do many times.

It was quite a thrill to wait for the others to choose their pick. He wondered if Martin would guess right. He gave them a countdown and felt his heart jump as he looked at their answers.

“Martin’s right. I’m not- not really gifted when it comes to music.”

“Oh, but that’s not true, Jon!” Martin disagreed. Jon knew what he was referring to and he tried his best not to feel flustered.

“You heard me sing once, Martin, I don’t think that qualifies as-“

Both Tim and Sasha were going _ooh_ and _aah_ at that, leaning in as Jon spoke.

“Sing! Sing! Sing!” Tim started chanting, and Sasha started clapping her hands in the same rhythm of his speech. Jon shook his head.

“If- if Sasha doesn’t have to do the- the rap… thing, I don’t see a reason for me to sing.”

“Right. I see the problem here. We’re not drunk enough. So, new rule,” Tim nodded seriously. “Every time someone leaves the room, we have to down our drinks. And, well, bad news. I need the loo, so…”

Tim stood up, emptying the bottle of beer he was holding, challenging them to do the same. Jon was glad that he had accidentally taken bigger gulps before, as he emptied the rest of his glass. Tim cheered as they each drank until their glasses were empty before doing a curtsey, leaving the room and them to their own devices. Sasha and Martin both appeared to check their phones, and Jon wondered if it was normal that he was already experiencing the effect of the alcohol. It took just a few seconds for Jon’s phone to vibrate with a message. Martin looked back up and smiled. Jon hurried to look at what he had sent him.

_A teacher, huh? Interesting._

He raised an eyebrow as he looked back at Martin. Sasha was still looking at her own phone.

_You speaking another language? Very interesting._

Martin didn’t have enough time to reply as Sasha suddenly made a small noise of surprise.

“Hey, they just- they just announced social support bubbles.”

“What?” both Jon and Martin asked in unison.

“Hold on. I’ll send you the link.”

Jon clicked on the link as soon as it appeared in the chat window and was still listening to the video it led to as Tim returned. Sasha filled him in, explaining what was happening.

Jon’s first reaction was indignation. It was too soon; it did not appear thought-through. Social support bubbles allowed people of single households to join up with another household starting that Saturday. It meant that people from different households could hug again, stay the night and ignore the distance rule. It didn’t make a lot of sense to him, as it meant that elderly people were now once more put at risk. It meant that once again, more people could potentially spread the virus. He assumed that there were many that didn’t keep the distance to others, support bubble or not, met up with friends and family, trying to ignore that the virus was still very much present. It made him angry.

He wanted to share his thoughts with the others, but then he looked at Martin.

And he realised with a jolt what it meant for them.

It meant that _they_ were allowed to not only meet; they were allowed to touch. They were allowed to hug. They could kiss each other, and it was all within the law.

There was no one else Jon wanted to be with. No one else he could potentially harm. And as far as he had gathered, it was the same for Martin.

It was _within the law_ now _._ It changed everything. No more reason for them to hold back.

“Martin,” his voice was very quiet, barely enough to be heard by the others. But they did, Tim and Sasha paused their conversation and Martin… Martin’s face showed the same dawning comprehension he was experiencing. He hadn’t meant to draw Tim and Sasha’s attention. “I- uh, um I’ve got to make a call. Will you excuse me?”

“Right! Of course! Um, me too, actually?” Martin responded. Judging from the expressions the others were making, they might have just talked about it right then and there. But still, Jon hung up only to call Martin immediately after. The other picked up within a fraction of a second.

“Martin!”

“Jon!” Martin looked like he was about to burst with joy. “You know- do you know- you know what that means? For us?”

“Yes. Yes, I know what that means.”

Martin laughed and then shook his head in disbelief.

“I mean, I think it’s a tad stupid because people will probably exploit it and act carelessly but- but Jon. Do you- do you want to-?”

“We’re not going to harm anyone else, are we? I don’t see a reason why we shouldn’t.”

Martin gave an actual squeal which flooded Jon with such elation, he wondered how his body was able to hold it all in.

“Right! Good! That’s- that’s great!” Martin replied, obviously trying to hold in the joy he was experiencing, but not quite managing to conceal it. “Hold on one second, will you?”

And then Jon watched as Martin got up and started dancing around in his flat. There was no music playing but that didn’t seem to bother Martin, his moves erratic and inconsistent and absolutely marvellous. Jon laughed as he watched and wondered when he’d reach the point where he couldn’t fall any deeper for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has left some feedback on this fic so far!!! We're getting closer to the end (I haven't written the last chapters, so we have yet to see how many more are yet to come...) and your comments have such an impact- they can literally make my day! <3
> 
> I hope you like this one, too!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gigantic shoutout to [Anna](https://annbun.tumblr.com) who helped to shape a lot of this chapter into what it ended up being <33
> 
> And also thanks again to [Soren](https://papershield-art.tumblr.com) and [Siarven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siarven/pseuds/Siarven) for being so, so kind and lovely and supportive!! You guys rock!
> 
> I really, really hope you'll enjoy this one <3

Martin was about to literally bounce off the walls of his flat.

Jon was coming over.

It was Saturday and Jon was coming over.

And if he had read all the signs correctly, they were going to– going to– to hug? Cuddle? Perhaps even kiss?

He went into his bedroom to flop down on his bed, shouting into his pillow for several seconds before returning to his kitchen, pretending that it never happened. He had invited Jon over for lunch, after they had spent the last days talking back and forth about where they should meet. Jon had spontaneously bought an actual bike off someone online, so that Martin would stop feeling bad about making him walk. He didn’t exactly love the fact that Jon was moving through London on a bike, but he had hope that traffic wasn’t so bad, as there were still quite a few restrictions. He was just getting started on the rice as his phone chimed, alerting him of a new message.

_I should be there in a few minutes, took a wrong turn. Sorry!_

Martin’s excitement increased tenfold and for a moment he thought he might actually be sick. He supported himself against the kitchen counter and took several long, deep breaths before deciding that maybe a glass of water would be a good idea.

Minutes.

They were minutes apart.

_Take your time!_

He put his phone back into his pocket, drained the glass and covered the pot of rice before stumbling into his bathroom. He wasn’t freaking out. He was _not_ going to freak out.

Washing his face helped a little and he quickly checked back on the rice before putting on some deodorant. He had spent the morning tidying his flat, hiding his laundry and then taking care of himself, shaving his face and washing his hair so that he felt like he could be the best version of himself for Jon. He felt good about it, too. Self-doubt kept trying to overtake him, but he didn’t let it. He felt clean, smelled great and was preparing food for another person, something he hadn’t done since his mum had moved into a care home. Jon liked him. He had said so himself. He had no reason to freak out.

His phone started vibrating.

Martin thought he might die before he could pick it up.

“Jon?”

“Hey. I– I’m here, I left the bike around the corner, I hope that’s fine– I– um, which floor…?”

“Ah, the fourth! Hold on, I’ll let you in,” he hurried up to press the button that opened the front door of the building.

“Okay. Great. See you in a second?”

“Yeah!”

Martin hung up and started frantically looking for his keys. He had a bad habit of dumping them somewhere instead of just leaving them in the door lock. But as soon as he did, he was out through his door and taking two stairs at once, trying to meet Jon in the middle. It was only as he was almost at the bottom of the staircase that he realised that he couldn’t hear Jon's steps. He did hear the lift though, the sound of its doors announcing its arrival somewhere on a floor above him.

“Jon?” he shouted upward.

“Martin? Are– are you downstairs?” Jon’s voice was echoing through the staircase from above and Martin couldn’t help but laugh. He was a fool. Jon had taken the lift.

“I– I tried to– to come your way, I didn’t– I didn’t think– Hold on.”

He turned around and started climbing back up the stairs again, taking two, sometimes three steps at once. This time, there was the clear sound of footsteps approaching him and then, all of a sudden, there he was.

Jon.

Jon, standing barely two metres away, beaming at him. Martin couldn’t breathe and he wasn’t sure if it was due to the stairs or the sight before him. Light was filtering through the window behind Jon, illuminating him ever so slightly. His hair was quite dishevelled, probably because of the bike ride, his clothes nothing out of the ordinary but he looked at Martin with such an open delight that he thought that he was the most beautiful thing he had ever got to lay his eyes upon.

“Breathtaking,” he whispered, frozen on the spot, afraid to move.

“So are you,” Jon said and stepped forward. There were only four small stair steps between them.

“I– ah, how was the cycling? Was the traffic alright?” Martin’s heart was beating so hard he was sure the walls must be vibrating with it by now. Jon shrugged.

“Can’t say it wasn’t nerve-racking. Although I’m not sure if I get to blame traffic. I’m not really what you’d call a skilled cyclist,” Jon kept on smiling as he spoke and moved ever closer, three stairs between them.

“Right. Right, um. Right,” his mind was blank. Jon took another step forward. Only two stairs now. They were almost at eye level at this point. Martin wasn’t sure if he was still breathing.

“Martin,” Jon’s voice was calm and quiet, the opposite of what Martin was feeling on the inside. He took another step, standing right in front of him now. Closer than ever before. Martin would barely have to move to touch him. “Martin– may I…?”

Not able to resists any longer, Martin pulled Jon close, interrupting him in his words, and embraced him. He wrapped his arms around him tightly, almost desperately, and held him there, right against his body, breathing him in. A surprised _oh_ left Jon’s lips before he sighed happily and put his own arms around Martin, returning the hug. He could feel him melt into it, feel his body become relaxed against his own while Martin tried not to cry from relief. The pressure in his own chest seemed to dissolve as his body was taking in the warmth of their embrace, providing him with much needed oxytocin, making him feel absolutely euphoric. It had been _so long_. And this was everything he had thought it could be, and more than that, even. He clung onto him with such an urgency that he wondered if Jon was still able to breathe properly, but he realised that he could feel Jon’s breath, tickling his neck. Unconsciously, Martin matched his breathing to his. He felt calm right there, in the arms of him, contented by being so close to each other.

“Oh no,” Martin cursed, breaking free from the embrace.

“Oh… no?” Jon asked, his eyebrows raised in surprise. He appeared dazed, almost. But definitely happy. “I feel like an _oh yes_ would be more adequate.”

“No, not you, of course not, Jon, no, you’re absolutely right- I mean- I- I forgot the rice. Come on.”

“You– the– what?”

“The rice!” he groaned and then moved past Jon, taking his hand without even thinking about it. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He cursed again and started ascending the stairs once more, fumbling for his keys with his other hand as he did so. Jon was starting to laugh now, squeezing his hand slightly but still sufficiently enough for Martin to realise that he had taken it without asking. He darted a quick glance at Jon, hoping that it was alright. The potential of what else might have happened just then was still lingering between them.

They were back at the door soon enough and Martin made haste to open it quickly, letting go of Jon’s hand, rushing into the kitchen as soon as he was through.

“I’ll be right there! Ah, make yourself comfortable!”

The water was boiling over, but besides that, the rice looked salvageable, only the lowest layer stuck to the bottom. He was glad that he had prepared the curry earlier and had let it stand to bring out the flavour, something the online recipe had suggested him to do. He had followed it rigorously, not trusting himself to know any better. Removing the lid from the pot and the pot from the heat, he instead put the other pot with the curry back on there to heat it up again. He gave both of them a vigorous stir. It would take a few more minutes until it was all done, but he had nothing else to do, he just had to make sure it wouldn’t burn. He felt like cursing again, angry at himself for the fact that he had interrupted the moment between them.

“I like your flat, Martin.”

He turned around and watched Jon walk through the small space of his home, looking sheepishly at the few pieces of furniture, walking closer to his bookshelf.

“Oh, thank you! It’s– it’s nothing much, really. Um, I– I made us some curry? I hope– I hope that’s alright. It’s vegan, I didn’t want to assume– I thought just in case.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Jon stepped closer towards him once more, moving away from the books that had apparently been attracting his attention. “Anything burnt?”

“I could save it,” Martin said, quietly, as Jon was getting closer.

“Oh, I’m glad. It smells delicious,” and then Jon was right by his side, looking at the pots in front of them. “Can I help with anything?”

“Ah, no, it’s– it’s all done, basically.”

The curry was bubbling now so Martin turned off the hob. He brushed Jon’s side as he did so, his heart skipping a beat. He definitely felt an urge to turn towards him, to hug him and hold him close and _feel_ his warmth again. To kiss him senselessly, right on the mouth, until they were both breathless. He didn’t dare to look at him in fear of his emotions getting the best of him, reminding himself that he had invited Jon over for lunch, after all.

“Yes, I think we can– we can eat. Um, you– you can sit down, if you want?”

“Let me help you.”

“Oh. Alright. Um, okay,” Martin opened a drawer to hand Jon some cutlery, acting as if the touch of their hands did nothing to him, before reaching up to get the plates. They managed to transport everything safely to the table and Martin could feel his chest ache with the domesticity of it all. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt that way. It was nice, to prepare a meal and have somebody there to share it with him. It was even better to experience with _Jon_ of all people.

“Well,” Martin started as they were finally seated, facing each other. He felt nervous again all of a sudden. “I– I hope it’s alright.”

“Thanks for making it, Martin,” as Jon spoke, he moved his hand across the table, towards where Martin’s was resting. He paused for a moment almost as if he wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do. Martin’s hand twitched and Jon took it, giving it a squeeze before smiling at him reassuringly. It did help calm him down quite a bit even though his heart was still agitated.

“Oh, um, sure! And– and if you need more heat, please, go ahead,” Martin indicated the different spices he had put on the table beforehand. He hadn’t made it as spicy as he would usually in case Jon preferred a milder version of it.

As they started eating, Martin suppressed the need to ask Jon for validation that the curry was alright, still in fear of Jon not liking it. Martin had tasted it and deemed it definitely edible, but still, there was a nagging fear of it not being good enough. It correlated with the fear of himself not being good enough. However, Jon didn’t say much while he ate, and Martin couldn’t help but deem it a good sign.

Once their plates were empty and Jon had thanked him more than once, Martin gave him a tour through his flat, although with the lack of many rooms, he wondered if he could even call it that.

“So, this is where I work,” he hadn’t tidied his desk as much as the rest of his flat, as there was still a lot of unfinished work alongside notes and references strewn around.

“It’s strange to see it from this perspective,” Jon mused, picking up a piece of paper to examine it. “You’re thorough.”

“Oh, am I getting a performance review now?” Martin joked, leaning against the desk.

“God no, that’s Elias’s responsibility. Thank god,” he put the paper back down and then seemed to realise what he had said. “Not– not that your work isn’t, ah, absolutely satisfactory.”

“Oh? Oh, is it? Satisfactory, hm?” Martin teased, tilting his head to the side.

“Quite,” Jon smiled, not meeting his eye, instead focusing on something else he had discovered on the desk. He furrowed his brow. “What’s this?”

Martin glanced down at what Jon was holding in his hand. His brain told him what it was instantly. After spending so much time writing in it, he could probably recognise it with his eyes closed, just by touching it, maybe even just by smelling it. And yet, he felt petrified, unable to speak or move.

“Is– did you write this?”

Martin couldn’t believe that he had been foolish enough to leave it out there in the open. He hadn’t paid it much attention earlier as it had blended in with everything else on the desk. And worst of all, it was open right on a page of one of the poems he had written about Jon.

“Would you believe me now if I said no?” Martin croaked, staring at the desk, unable to look at Jon. He felt utterly embarrassed.

“Not really. Would you read it to me?” Jon’s voice was soft as he asked, holding the notebook out towards Martin. He felt like he couldn’t say no. Stealing a glance at Jon’s face, he was met with the kindest smile, warming his insides sufficiently. A sigh escaped him.

“Alright. Right. Right, yes, cool. Right. Alright.”

“Martin. I’m not going to _force_ you.”

“No, it’s– I want to. It’s– it’s cool. Cool, cool.”

Martin took the notebook into his hands, taking a deep breath and looked at the words he knew by heart. It helped, to focus on them instead of Jon. His hands were shaking.

“Right. It’s– it’s called _Potential_.”

Jon moved to stand next to him, leaning against his desk as well, looking at him from the side. There were just inches between them. Martin took another deep breath and started reading.

_I spy with my little eye_

_Something with potential_

_It isn’t desire and it isn’t lust_

_But something deeper, still_

_Marianas trench seems shallow almost_

_Blanching in comparison_

_I do not dare to call it by its name_

_For fear that it might break me_

_But it is there_

_It does not hide_

_It shouts_

_It grows_

_It will break free_

_May I blame the weather?_

_May I blame the sun?_

_The season could be sombre and yet_

_The potential would remain_

He hadn’t looked at Jon even once as he spoke, concentrating solely on the page in front of him. It was the poem he had written after they had met in the park. He could feel his heart beating in his throat now and he swallowed hard.

“Martin.”

The moment he turned his head to look at Jon, he was met by his lips, kissing him so gently that Martin actually whimpered. He dropped the notebook he was holding, and it fell to the floor with a _thump_. The noise seemed to startle Jon and he broke away, looking at him anxiously, apparently afraid of having done the wrong thing, but before he could say another word, Martin chased his lips with his own. He returned the kiss with more vigour, one of his hands finding its way into Jon’s hair while the other one moved alongside his jaw. Finally. _Finally_. Jon sighed against his lips, moving one of his hands across Martin’s arm, the other one grabbing his shirt, pulling him closer. Martin reacted by turning his body towards him and they moved so he could stand more comfortably in front of Jon while the other leaned back on his desk. Martin kissed him fiercely, the longing in his chest breaking free, manifesting through his actions and Jon yelped as he was pressed up against the desk, papers gliding down to the floor while he moved to sit on its surface.

“Watch out, Martin! Your work– “

Martin couldn’t help but giggle at the concern in Jon’s voice, not caring about the documents and notes. He moved back, letting his hands glide over Jon’s arms, never breaking the contact between them even after they had broken the kiss. Jon seemed to relax, and when they looked at each other, it was with such an intensity that Martin wouldn’t have been surprised if he just evaporated on the spot.

“I had no idea you liked poetry that much,” Martin teased, a grin forming on his face.

“Oh, I– I usually– I’m not…“ Jon appeared to be quite flustered by his words. “I’m not really that much of a poetry person, actually. It– It must have been your charm, I guess.”

The smile on Jon’s face was almost sheepish and it took every ounce of Martin’s willpower to refrain from kissing him again.

“You asked me that day. In the park. If I’ve ever written anything about you. Remember?” Martin leaned in until his forehead met Jon’s, sighing with relish. “I lied.”

“I forgive you,” Jon chuckled.

“I really like you, Jon,” Martin’s voice was nothing more than a whisper and he closed his eyes, breathing him in.

“I like you too, Martin,” Jon replied before leaning in to kiss him again. Martin relaxed into the kiss, more controlled this time, moving his arms to embrace Jon, holding him close. Jon moved his hands against his back, one of them wandering up until it reached the back of his neck, his fingernails scratching his skin ever so slightly, superbly, and Martin moaned with the sensation. He felt like right at that moment, for certain, it was impossible for there to be somebody else feeling as glorious as he was. He was filled up with a felicity so all-pervasive, so stunning it was permeating his entire body. It felt like a warm bath after a day out in the snow, his fingertips and toes tingling in the best way possible. He felt like he could do this all day. Maybe, if he was lucky, they would.

“So, um, shall we continue with the tour?” Jon asked once they were catching their breath again, interfering with his plan.

“Oh. Right. Um, well– not much left to see, uh– “ Martin stepped back, giving Jon enough space to hop down from the desk and he took his hand into his own, not wanting to let go of him. “There’s– there’s the bedroom.”

He walked to the door to show Jon the room, and they remained quiet, almost as if they were both making sure not to say anything that would cause discomfort. Jon simply nodded and Martin moved on to show him the rest of his flat.

Once Jon had seen everything there was to see, they settled down on the couch, close enough so that their knees were touching.

“So, um, that poem of yours,” Jon started, his hand absentmindedly moving alongside Martin’s thigh. He tried very hard to focus on what Jon was saying.

“Yes?”

“Could I get a copy?”

Martin could feel the blush creeping up into his cheeks again and he had trouble meeting Jon’s eye once more.

“Oh,” Martin thought about it for a second, although his decision was already made. “Um, you can have the original if you want? It’s yours.”

“Oh,” Jon replicated. “But– I don’t want to take it from you. It’s your work.”

“Well, it– it’s written about you. You should have it. I, ah, might have another one, too.”

Jon’s eyes were sparkling dangerously, and Martin cursed himself for telling him. He’d want to hear that one, too, he was sure of it. Jon didn’t press him, though, and they fell back into silence. Martin was kneading his hands, wanting to touch Jon, unsure of what he was allowed to do.

“Um, would you like some tea?” Martin asked, unable to just sit there any longer, in the need of something to keep his hands busy.

“Sure,” Jon uttered, and Martin could feel his eyes on him as he got up.

“What type?”

“Well, what do you have to offer?”

“Oh, well, everything,” Martin opened to door to his cupboard, looking at his selection.

“Then I’ll let you choose.”

“Daring, are we?” Martin grinned at him, grabbing the kettle to set up the water. He chose two of the less embarrassing cups and two different types of tea. He kept looking back at Jon as he let them steep.

Jon had kissed him.

He had kissed Jon.

He smiled to himself as he moved the teabags up and down in their cups.

“Is the tea amusing you?” Jon was leaning forward on the couch, his head tilted, resting on his hand. The look on his face was filled with something warm but also something cheeky and Martin’s smile got broader.

“Just thinking. About you. Kissing me. Quite a bold thing to do, really, wasn’t it?”

“Oh?” Jon asked, banter in his voice, as Martin sat back down, putting the steaming cups on the table in front of them. “Was it? After you confessing your feelings through that poem? I’m not sure if one would call it _bold_.”

“Confessing? What?” he laughed, but it came out shakily. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Martin tried his best not to be embarrassed again. “You knew I liked you. Before that poem.”

“Yes, sure,” Jon’s voice was filled with the warmth of his smile. “But not like that.”

“Right,” Martin nodded, crossing his arms in front of him, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden. He didn’t want to shut himself off but talking about his emotions for Jon was a scary thing to do. He was convinced that there was no way Jon would feel the same way about him, at least not with the same intensity. He wasn’t even sure if anyone on earth was able to do that. Jon seemed to notice that it did something to Martin, that he was drifting away.

“Hey. It’s alright,” Jon whispered, softly, and moved his hand to caress his cheek. His touch was so gentle, Martin found himself leaning into it, sighing in gratitude, closing his eyes. He stayed still to enjoy the sensation of Jon’s fingers moving over his skin. Jon hummed and when Martin opened his eyes again, he knew that it was a silly thing to do, to get scared of sharing his feelings for him. Especially when Jon looked at him like _that_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo I'm sorry for the less than mediocre poetry in this, I've listened to all of Martin's poems and tried to channel my inner Anil but I can't really compete with that... but hey, I tried!!
> 
> We have one or maybe two more chapters to go!! I'll have a hard time completing this fic cause it was literally so fun to write AAHHH  
> BUT I might write more in the future, so if you'd like to see more, you can also find me on [tumblr](https://imbekkable.tumblr.com) and leave me some ideas >:)
> 
> If you leave a comment I will literally find u and kiss u (or hug u.. or hold your hand.. or nod my head at u gratefully... whatever you're comfortable with...) <3


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer!** This is not the final chapter because I'm bad at planning ahead and sometimes writing just does whatever it wants to do and I end up having no control ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Also there's a **mild warning** for this one which you can find in the notes at the end of this chapter! Please check that first if you want to make sure <3 And if you find anything else you want to see tagged, let me know as well!
> 
> As always, thanks to my dearest [Anna](https://annbun.tumblr.com) for the motivation and the very valued feedback!! And thanks to [Soren](https://papershield-art.tumblr.com) and [Siarven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siarven/pseuds/Siarven) for letting me spam them during my writing process and just being wonderful in general. <3
> 
> Enjoy!

Jon couldn’t help but feel surprised.

Not just by Martin and his actions, but by himself, too.

He had wanted to kiss Martin, for months now, but he hadn’t expected himself to just do it, unprompted. And for Martin to go ahead and kiss him back… His thoughts kept going back to that moment and he couldn’t stop himself from smile, feeling his heartbeat increase just by the realisation that it had actually _happened_. He felt ten years younger, felt like he could conquer anything if he set his mind to it.

But he felt timid, too. He was unsure of what Martin wanted, where their expectations clashed and where they would overlap. But it appeared that Martin was going through something similar. Maybe he was just overthinking it.

He knew he still had to talk to Martin about his view on intimacy, hoping he could avoid an awkward situation where the two of them had different expectations. He knew it wasn’t unlikely for other people to want something that he didn’t. He just had to find the courage to tell Martin before the other grew convinced that it must be the same for Jon. He tried to collect his thoughts while holding onto the mug in his hand, looking at it.

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to touch Martin. He wanted to, to glide his hands over his arms and feel the muscles underneath the skin, to count his freckles by connecting them with his fingertips, to run his hands through his hair and let it curl around his fingers. He wanted to hold him and be held in return, to feel Martin’s hands on his back with firm and certain pressure, to kiss him and be kissed by him. He wanted to all of those things. And yet, he was afraid of the implications, of Martin getting the wrong idea.

He moved his thumb over the side of the mug he was holding, still warm, and raised it to his lips. Martin had made him some delicious tea. The thought crossed his mind and he didn’t see a reason to not voice it, so he did.

“The tea’s delicious.”

“Oh, thank you!” Martin smiled at him brightly but then returned to kneading his hands in his lap. He had done so earlier, and Jon wanted to reach out and stop him from doing so, wondering what made him do it in the first place.

“Martin–“

“Would it be alright if I kissed you again, Jon?”

“Oh!” he couldn’t help but smile at the wording. It was very kind of Martin to ask. He hadn’t done so. “Of course. You don’t need to ask.”

“You mean, I can do that anytime now?” Martin turned his upper body towards him, shifting his weight, as one of his hands brushed against Jon’s neck. Jon couldn’t help but breathe in sharply from the touch. “I’m never going to get anything done. Possibly… Ever.”

Jon knew the smile on his own face must appear to be smug and apparently it was enough for Martin to prompt to move close enough for their lips to meet once more. Jon let his worries melt away as he decided to focus on the more important task at hand, which was kissing Martin.

\---

Time seemed to pass in a strange way at Martin’s flat. Jon felt like he had only just arrived when he suddenly realised that he had been there for four hours already. They talked, mostly, about anything that came to mind. Martin took his time opening up, something Jon couldn’t reproach him for, as he himself found it even harder to do so. And yet, Martin seemed to trust him enough to feel the need to share. Martin talked about his mother, about not being able to see her and the fear he was experiencing during these last months. The fear of losing her without getting a chance to say goodbye. Jon had trouble trying to find the right words to say, but he found that holding Martin’s hand while he talked already seemed to help.

“I– I can’t imagine what that’s like,” he mumbled, squeezing Martin’s hand as he spoke. Part of him was scared of Martin becoming emotional, as he knew how bad he was at comforting people. But Martin looked surprisingly composed.

“We don’t– we don’t really have the best relationship, if I’m being honest. It’s complicated,” Martin sighed, his head falling back against the backrest of the couch. “But then again, who does, really? Show me one person who has a normal relationship to their parents. _One_.”

“Hm. Yes. Perhaps you’re right,” Jon’s grip tightened around Martin’s hand. Martin rolled his head so he could look back at him properly.

“Do you?”

“Well,” Jon glanced at Martin’s face but then decided to look back at their hands, where their fingers were still interlocked. Jon knew he had to brace himself for Martin’s reaction. It was not so much the fact that his parents were dead that made it difficult to talk about it. It was the reactions of others that made it so hard for him to tell anyone. He didn’t want to be pitied and he didn’t want to create an unpleasant situation, especially for Martin. Especially today. He wasn’t going to lie to him though. “They passed away.”

“Oh. Oh, _Jon_ –“

“I was– It was when I was still really young. I mean, I barely even remember them? It’s– it’s alright.”

“It doesn’t have to be. You’re allowed to be hurt, no matter when it happened.”

Jon smiled, smiled at the sincerity in Martin’s voice and squeezed his hand once more.

“Thank you, Martin.”

He couldn’t help but feel relieved. Talking about his family history was never an easy topic for Jon and he would never find himself to be the one to start talking about it unsolicited. So, Martin asking such a direct question was enough for him to get it out of the way and not have the heaviness of it remain between them. It felt quite freeing to him. Martin continued to approach the topic, but he did it cautiously, giving Jon the choice to opt out with every question he asked. Surprisingly, Jon didn’t even want to. He even started telling him anecdotes about his grandmother that he himself hadn’t even thought about for months, or years, even.

Talking to Martin was starting to become so easy, so natural, that Jon wondered how it had ever been any other way. Their conversation drifted from their families or lack thereof, to religious beliefs, to food preferences to their experiences back in school. They both wanted to get to know each other, to find out what life the other had been living, to form a deeper understanding. Jon started to wonder if there was any topic that wouldn’t be fun or interesting to talk about, as long as Martin was the person, he was having the conversation with.

“Wait, let me guess! I want to guess!” Martin appeared excited, and he fidgeted around until he had both of his legs pulled up close to his chest. Jon’s glance fell onto his socks. There were sunflowers on them. He wondered how he hadn’t noticed before. It was the most endearing thing he ever got to witness. He looked back at Martin’s face.

“Alright. Go ahead, guess.”

They had somehow started talking about favourite colours and it appeared to be quite an important topic to Martin. He regarded him carefully which made Jon feel oddly exposed. How would Martin be able to tell what his favourite colour was? By what he had told him? Or was it just by appearance? He needed to know the categories for that study, but first, he had to decide on a favourite colour. Before Martin could reveal his guess.

“Well, I’d definitely say you’d go for a cool colour, not a warm one. See, I want to go with blue, because blue is calming, and I feel like you would rather go for something calming, but everybody likes blue... Unless… unless maybe red? I mean, that’s a warm one, but– I mean red is _bold_. It would have to be a deep red. Or a muted one.”

Jon considered his suggestions and found himself to like what he was hearing. He hadn’t really given too much thought to his favourite colour lately. It was fun to do so, now. It was soothing, in a way, to sit on Martin’s very comfortable couch and watch the other rack his brain. He felt content right there and then.

“Green!” Martin exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Don’t know why it took so long.”

“Green?”

“Yes. Green. But, not like a garish green. Olive. Perhaps hunter green, if you’re feeling posh.”

“How come?” Jon honestly wanted to know, his curiosity overtaking him, and he leaned in closer.

“It– it looks nice,” there was a change in the tone of Martin’s voice which predicted an upcoming blush, something Jon had started to notice. “On you, I mean. I like it. When you wear green.”

“Oh?” Jon felt flustered by his words but tried to maintain his composure.

“I– I mean most colours look nice. Ah, on you. But green really does do the trick.”

Jon knew he’d have to find every piece of green clothing he owned as soon as he got back to his wardrobe. He might never wear another colour.

“I think it looks quite nice on you, too, actually,” as he spoke, he let one of his hands find its way back to Martin’s. Martin’s hand was warmer than his own and bigger, too. It made him feel secure. Safe. Nothing could harm him if Martin kept holding his hand. The thought was absolutely absurd, and Jon centred back on the topic. “Hm. I think you’re right. It might be my favourite.”

“I knew it,” Martin looked absolutely cheerful because he had guessed correctly. Jon thought his cheeks might start hurting if he kept making him smile like that.

\---

It was evening when Martin received a video call. Tim and Sasha had been texting him and apparently had nothing better to do than being nosy. Martin decided to let it keep ringing.

“Do they know?” Jon couldn’t help but ask. They hadn’t exactly been inconspicuous last Wednesday, but even if they knew, neither Tim nor Sasha had mentioned anything to Jon during their conversations. Tim had acted a bit smug but nothing quite out of the ordinary.

“Ah, well, I think they do suspect something,” Martin replied, waiting for the phone to stop vibrating. “I haven’t said anything though and they seem to respect that? Unbelievable, I know.”

Jon knew he did it in deference to his own wishes. He wondered if it was still necessary, to hide something as marvellous as what they shared between them. He realised that no, in fact, he didn’t want that.

“Let’s tell them.”

“What?” Martin actually dropped the phone at that and looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Sure,” Jon moved so he could snuggle in against Martin’s side. Martin had picked up the phone again and moved his other arm, putting it around Jon’s shoulder, pulling him in even closer. Jon breathed in his scent and loved to feel all the places they were touching, loved to be so close to him.

“But – I mean – you’re okay with that? And–and what exactly do you want me to say to them?” as Martin stopped speaking, he started to plant soft kisses onto Jon’s head. It felt rather intimate and for a moment, Jon failed to notice that Martin had asked a question.

“Well, why don’t you just pick up?” Jon offered, shrugging a little.

“Right now?”

“Why not? See, Tim’s calling again.”

“Are you sure–?”

Before Martin could doubt his words any longer, Jon had pressed the answer button for him. It took a second for the connection to be stable enough for them to even make out what was happening on the screen. Tim and Sasha were apparently back together in one of their flats, as they watched Tim struggling to keep Sasha’s dog from licking his face.

“Will you stop– Sasha! Help me! Martin, hey– Oh.”

Tim finally seemed to be able to focus enough on his phone to realise that Martin wasn’t on his own. Martin whimpered next to Jon and passed his phone to him, apparently too embarrassed to bear Tim’s look any longer.

“Good afternoon, Tim,” Jon said instead, smiling nonchalantly. Martin’s arm was still resting on his shoulders. Tim’s face was a glorious thing to look at, his mouth open in such honest surprise.

Tim shouted once more for Sasha to join him and then beamed at Jon, smiling like a shark.

“Hi, boss. Fancy seeing you here. Well, I was going to ask Martin if he had time for a chat, but I see you’re, ah, quite _busy_. Don’t want to interrupt anything.”

“Oh, yes, indeed. We do have hands to hold and faces to kiss, I’m afraid.”

Martin groaned next to him, hiding his face behind his hands now but quite obviously smiling beneath them. Jon thought he heard him mumble something along the lines of _I can’t believe you_. Just at that moment, Sasha appeared on screen, looking absolutely delighted.

“I’m so proud of you, Martin!” she shouted as soon as she saw what was happening, and Jon looked back at Martin expectantly, waiting for his reply. Martin sighed and leaned back in, so he was appearing on screen once more.

“He started it, actually,” Martin replied, all embarrassment in his voice gone, the remainder just a blush on his cheeks.

“Hey!” Jon protested.

“You did!” Martin’s tone was almost accusatory but clearly teasing him. Off screen, Jon’s free hand found one of Martin’s, almost by itself.

“Yes, alright, you’re right. I did. I, I guess.”

“He swept me completely off of my feet,” Martin added, successfully starting to make Jon become flustered this time.

“Not literally, I assume,” Jon heard Tim wonder out loud. “I mean, judging from Jon’s tiny arms.”

“What have my arms ever done to you, Tim?”

“Nothing. Don’t think they could even if they’d try.”

“Watch it, Stoker!” Martin now formed a fist with his unoccupied hand, waving it about, apparently trying to intimidate Tim. Jon couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. It was endearing, to watch Martin defend him like that.

“Well, ah, we don’t want to keep you from anything, isn’t that right, Tim?” Sasha nudged him with her elbow and Tim’s smile somehow kept growing.

“Of course not. Have fun,” the innuendo in Tim’s voice was obvious, but Jon wasn’t surprised by that. He had expected nothing less.

“I do ask you both to be discreet about it,” Jon added before they hung up. “We haven’t told Elias yet, and I don’t want to cause any office gossip without telling him first.”

“Sure thing,” Tim waved his hand like it was nothing. “You can trust us. Wouldn’t do that to my boy Martin,” there was a pause, before Tim added, “And not to you, either, Jon.”

Sasha nodded at his words and Jon felt grateful for them both. He wanted to trust them. He decided to trust them, too.

They bid their goodbyes, including some unbearable eyebrow movements by Tim, before the both of them were once again on their own.

“So,” Martin was the first to break the silence, which didn’t feel uncomfortable to Jon. “Speaking of sweeping somebody off of their feet…”

And before Jon could stop him, before he could even progress what was happening or react in any way, Martin had jumped up from the couch, pulling him up with him. There was no time to protest as Martin scooped him up like it was nothing, one arm around his back, the other one in the bend of his knees.

“Martin!” he couldn’t help but start laughing, his hands grasping at Martin’s arms and shoulders until he felt secure enough to relax, realising that Martin had no trouble in keeping him there. Martin was now stepping away from the couch, only to spin them around, giving an expression of pleasure by going _whee_ as he did so. He managed to entice even more laughter out of Jon by doing so and Jon felt absolutely thrilled by his actions.

“Oh god. _Martin_ –“

“You want me to stop?” he skidded to a halt and almost lost his balance, but Jon felt like a child, greedy for more.

“Please don’t.”

Martin grinned and changed the direction, now spinning them the other way. Jon leaned back so he could watch Martin’s flat become blurry upside down, feeling dizzy soon enough but excited all the same. When Martin came to a halt this time, he stumbled a bit until he was close enough to the couch to let himself fall back on it, with Jon still in his arms. Which meant that Jon was now on top of Martin, basically sitting in his lap. He had his arms around Martin’s neck and decided to burrow his face into the nook of it, still giggling from the rush of being spun around like that. Martin flinched and chuckled, apparently tickled by Jon’s breath, but kept him close, nonetheless. Jon leaned back, looking at Martin, at his flushed cheeks, at every visible freckle he could make out, taking him in, memorising everything there was to see.

“Your face is very nice to look at, Martin.”

“Oh, _Jon_ ,” it was once again Martin’s turn to hide his face, and he chose Jon’s shoulder to do so. “Stop.”

“Can’t do. Such a pretty, handsome–“

“Stop!” Martin giggled and resurfaced, only to kiss Jon to keep him quiet. Jon didn’t mind that, at all. It was only when Martin shifted underneath him that he realised what position they were in, Jon sitting sideways on his lap, and even if he wasn’t straddling him, it was still approaching dangerous territory, as one of Martin’s hand rested on his thigh. He sighed. He had to tell him. There was no use in delaying it any further.

“Hey, um, Martin?”

“Hm?” Martin was now embracing him, pulling him close, before his hands started moving up and down along his spine. It felt very nice, to be touched like that. Jon almost forgot to speak.

“Ah, it’s just– You should know that, um, I’m asexual.”

“Oh.” Martin’s hand stopped moving immediately and he leaned back against the couch to look at Jon’s face, fully. “Okay.”

There was a moment of silence between them, agonising Jon, as Martin seemed to gather his thoughts. Jon noticed that he was holding in his breath, afraid of what Martin might say. He didn’t dare to breathe.

“First of all,” Martin started, and Jon could feel his own heartbeat ringing in his ears. “I want you to know that it doesn’t change anything, I mean, not really. I’m– it’s not that important. I don’t– it’s not just about that, for me.”

Jon sighed in relief and nodded, but he knew Martin had more to say.

“As– as far as I’m aware there’s– there’s more than one way to be asexual?” Jon nodded again at his words, not trusting his voice. “Well, um, I’d like you to tell me if I – if I ever do something that makes you uncomfortable, alright? And, uh, what you– what you want me to do. I – I don’t expect you to write me an essay or anything. There’s no rush. I just – tell me, if I cross a line, alright?”

Martin waited for Jon to nod again before he continued, now taking Jon’s hands into his own.

“Jon, I– I don’t think that was easy for you to say. So, ah, thank you for being honest with me. Would– would it be alright if I asked you some questions about it, maybe? Just– just so I can understand what you’re, hm, um, comfortable with? It– it doesn’t have to be now, of course. We don’t have to have that conversation if you don’t want that. It can wait.”

“No, of course, I– yes. I get it. Um. Kissing is alright. Hugging, too, of course. Ah, well, I don’t mind if you – if you want to try something? I might even like it. I can always tell you if I don’t. I promise that I will. I just thought– I just thought you should know.”

Martin nodded, one of his warmest smiles back on his face, and then kissed each of Jon’s knuckles, incredibly slowly, taking his time.

“This doesn’t change the way I feel about you,” he told him once he was done, looking him straight in the eye, no trace of irony or mockery to be found. Jon couldn’t help but be convinced that he was in earnest. He let himself fall against Martin’s chest, reassured by his words.

“I’m glad. I was worried it might. You– you can still opt out, you know,” he cursed himself for saying that, but it was what he was best at. Pushing people away. He didn’t want to do that with Martin, but apparently, that side of him was still there, even though he had managed to keep it quiet lately.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Martin stroked his hair as he spoke, a comforting act. “You won’t get rid of me anytime soon, I’m afraid.”

Jon hummed as he breathed in, trying to regain his confidence after feeling so vulnerable by opening up. “Well, I’m glad. You haven’t even shown me your juggling skills yet.”

Martin snorted at that but helped Jon move from his lap to get up, regardless. Before he could walk away to grab whatever he needed, he leaned in to kiss Jon once more, lingering there for a moment. It was another confirmation of his feelings, unspoken this time. It was all Jon had hoped for.

Martin returned with three apples in his hands and Jon soon realised that he clearly hadn’t lied about it. It helped to create a lighter mood once again, as Martin incorporated Jon in the tricks he knew, making him toss the apples for him to catch, obviously enjoying Jon’s astonishment and admiration.

Time meant nothing to Jon as he watched and laughed and applauded while Martin continued doing more and more advanced tricks. Jon could forget all his troubles and fears while watching Martin. And it was such an easy thing to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings:**  
>  \- death mention (Jon's parents)
> 
> \------
> 
> AhhhH! More communication!!!
> 
> OH, I also posted a fluffy little oneshot the other day which you can find [right here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24985114), in case you're interested! 
> 
> I just want to say thanks again to everyone who's still reading this, 50k in!! Your feedback literally keeps me going, it is so, _so_ very much appreciated I can't even tell y'all 🥺
> 
> This means the last chapter will be uploaded next week!! Unless I end up writing more than what was planned again and we'll end up with another one.... we'll see....... 👀
> 
> Smallest of updates: sorry for the delay for the last chapter, some personal stuff came up but it is coming!! Soon! I promise <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is: the last chapter! I'm sorry for the delay!
> 
> This bad boy can fit so many tropes in it (consider this a warning :D) ALSO sorry for basically writing 3 chapters all taking place on the same day I just couldn’t resist <3
> 
> Well, one final time: enjoy!!

Technically, Martin should have known that it was a bad idea.

He just thought that it could be nice, maybe, since they had been talking for so many hours, to take a break and watch something together. Something to discuss later on, if they felt like it. To find themselves in the media they consumed and communicate through those characters. And to just relax, next to each other.

He had not considered that it was quite late already and that the film he had chosen was feature-length.

He had not thought about the fact that Jon was supposed to get back home on his bike.

Or maybe he had but had consciously decided to ignore it.

Either way, most importantly, he had not expected Jon to fall asleep halfway through.

He was now trapped there on his place on the couch, Jon’s head resting on his shoulder, dangerously close to slipping off.

Martin knew that for the most part, he simply wanted Jon to stay as long as possible, even if it was a selfish thing to do. It was much more of an excuse than anything else, to remain there beside him, to have him be so close. And if that included Jon falling asleep while watching a film, it was fine by him.

Jon had reassured him several times that he was not tired yet, that the film seemed _oh, very interesting_ and _quite gripping, really_ and had continued to mumble things along the lines of that even as Martin had noticed him nodding off. It had been quite adorable until the moment Jon’s cheek had made contact with his shoulder with a soft thump and his thought process had stopped entirely. Martin was now about to dislocate his neck trying to get a good look at him.

There was certainly no intention of waking Jon on his part, but he was very much aware that he could not remain like that for the rest of the evening – or night, rather. Although a not so insignificant part of him wanted to stay there, he knew some of his muscles were going to start cramping up in his attempt to stay as still as he could, to provide as much rest for Jon as humanly possible. But he found a way to be somewhat comfortable, even making it through another large chunk of the film without waking him, as he listened to the soft sound of Jon’s even breathing rather than the dialogue the actors provided on screen. Every now and then, there was a grumble or sigh that made Martin melt a little more, creating a wave of honest delight mixed with disbelief over the situation he found himself to be in. He considered taking a picture with his phone, something to capture the moment that felt like the manifestation a self-indulgent fantasy he had come up with months ago. The action felt too intrusive to him and so he didn’t. Maybe he could ask Jon if it would be alright to do so. He really wouldn’t mind having some pictures of Jon on his phone.

Just as the film approached its climax, Jon awoke with a jolt, startling Martin as he did so. He looked quite disorientated for a moment, looking at Martin in utter confusion. His features softened just after a second and he started rubbing at his eyes, yawning.

“Ah– I’m– I’m sorry. I seem to have fallen asleep.”

Martin was rolling his shoulder before kneading his tense muscles, chuckling at Jon’s expression. He was sure that Jon was trying his best to hide the embarrassment he was feeling, to appear nonchalant as he crossed his arms. One side of his face was red from the contact where he had rested against Martin, and he still looked so absolutely sleepy that Martin’s heart did a small hop in his chest.

“Correct,” he said and then, unable to stop himself, he started nuzzling his face against the crook of Jon’s neck, putting his arms around him to pull him close. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

There were several noises of indignation and protest leaving Jon’s mouth that did nothing but confirm Martin’s words, at least in his opinion, and he grinned against Jon’s neck, leaving a trail a kisses on every inch of skin he could reach, until he settled on the space right underneath his Adam’s apple. He could feel Jon swallow underneath his lips, felt delighted by the reaction but at the same time remembered their earlier conversation. He drew back.

“Is– is that ok?”

Jon nodded, opening his mouth to give a proper reply, but he was interrupted by another yawn. He looked down at his wristwatch and rubbed at his face once more.

“As much as I, um, would like to continue… I – I should probably get going,” he said it with a sigh, apparently just as upset by the suggestion as Martin felt.

“Right,” Martin nodded as he turned off the tv. “Or you could stay.”

The words had left his mouth before he could even register them as his own. But he did consider it a brilliant thing to propose, so he couldn’t bring himself to take them back. Jon’s eyebrows were now at a considerably higher position on his face than just a moment before.

“You– you want me to stay the night?”

“Is it too much? I mean, you could take my bed and I could take the couch? It’s– I mean, it’s late, and it’s dark outside, and I don’t want you to lead your bike right into the Thames. Frankly, I think it would irresponsible to let you go, really.”

Martin found himself nodding along to his own words, convincing himself of their truth in the process of phrasing them. Jon’s face was still quite stern but in a way that made Martin wonder if he was messing with him. There was a mischievous sort of look in his eyes, something that made him wonder if they were about to play a game.

“Oh, I’m not sure,” Jon replied, and by now it was obvious that he just wanted Martin to give him more reasons to stay, to banter with him. Martin wouldn’t be surprised if he’d start twirling a strand of his hair between his fingers. “I mean, the Admiral is all on his own. He’d probably never forgive me.”

Martin decided to play along and folded his arms, furrowing his brow in mock consideration.

“That is a great point. Cats tend to bear a grudge easily, or so I’ve heard. But, ah, tell me, Jon, does he have enough food and water?”

“Oh, it could last him for an entire week.”

“Hm, I see. Not too bad then,” he nodded again, before stroking his chin. “You know, I think the Admiral would want you to stay here, too.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

“Well, he’s seen me. He trusts me, I’m sure,” Martin was purely improvising at this point. “And– and he knows what a bit of kindness and affection can do to someone,” as he spoke, he lifted one of hands to stroke Jon’s cheek with the back of it, fondly, just like Jon had done earlier to him. Jon closed his eyes at the touch, a faint sigh escaping him. Martin knew he was winning.

“Well, I didn’t bring any clothes to stay the night… Or a toothbrush, for that matter.”

Before Jon could say another word, Martin was on his feet, rushing into his bedroom to procure the first shirt from his small sleepwear section that fell into his hand before grabbing a pair of joggers that could be tied at the waistband. Both were surely too big for Jon, but probably doable. He was still rushing when he left for the bathroom and heard Jon laughing from his place on the couch, apparently amused by the sight. He finally returned to the couch with the clothes, toothbrush and a towel in hand.

“There you go,” he dumped the items into Jon’s hands, grinning in success. “Do I win?”

“Yes, alright, you win, Martin,” the defeat in Jon’s voice was full of underlying glee and Martin decided that he had earned a kiss for that. He had to bend down to do it properly and was delighted to find Jon’s hands in his hair and at the nape of his neck almost instantly.

“I’ll take the couch,” Jon spoke once they broke apart, his tone set.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You take the bed.”

“I’m not going to let you sleep on the couch in your own home, Martin.”

Martin was about to object but then Jon cleared his throat, not meeting his eyes any longer.

“Or we could, um, share. If– if that’s– if that would be alright with you. I mean, if you want?”

Martin could barely believe what he was hearing, and he knew his face must show the astonishment he was experiencing. He had wanted to suggest that himself but had no intention of pressuring Jon, so he had refrained from doing so. But for Jon to suggest it instead… His mind was swept blank entirely.

“Oh, that is– yes, um, that’s quite alright with me, actually.”

Jon pulled him down to press another kiss onto his lips, very softly, only to smile at him as soon as he leaned back. Martin felt like he was about to become very spoiled by the display of his affection and yet he couldn’t stop indulging in it. Jon was now tapping his fingers against the objects in his lap, looking at them in curiosity. He held up the toothbrush, inspecting it carefully.

“It’s– it’s made out of bamboo,” it was a statement rather than a question.

“Yes.”

“Fascinating.”

“Ah, well, um, it’s less waste? It’s better for the environment.”

Jon looked at him fondly enough for Martin to blush again. He stood there in silence, bouncing on the balls of his feet until he realised that Jon was probably waiting for him to leave so he could get changed.

“Right, ah, I’ll give you some privacy.”

Back in his bedroom, Martin took a moment to just breathe. A lot had happened in those last few hours, more, really, than in the last several months. He was absolutely giddy with joy. Well, and maybe also a bit nervous about the fact that Jon was about to share a bed with him. But it also meant that they’d be able to _cuddle_ , if Jon was up for that. And he really, _really_ wanted to do that.

He changed into a fresh shirt and some chequered pyjama shorts as he was prone to getting hot during the night and wanted to be as comfy as possible next to Jon. He then realised once again that yes, this was really happening, and hopped a little, overrun with delight, from one of his feet onto the other one, giggling to himself. There was a gentle knock on his door which made him freeze in his movement.

“Martin? I, uh, I’m done.”

Martin opened the door to reveal Jon standing there in his own clothes. The shirt was loose enough to almost slip off of one of his shoulders, revealing his collarbone underneath. Jon had also rolled up the legs of the joggers so he wouldn’t trip while walking. It was almost too much for Martin too handle, and his hand clutched at his chest, captivated by the emotions of affection he was feeling.

“Looks great on you,” he barely managed to say. Jon scoffed, but Martin was in earnest.

“I mean, I must say, it’s quite comfortable to wear,” Jon said as they made their way towards the bathroom. He tugged on the sleeve of his shirt. “It’s– it’s very soft.”

There was something else in his voice, perhaps something like happiness over the fact that he got to wear Martin’s clothes. He didn’t look all too upset about it, at least. Martin couldn’t find it in himself to stop grinning.

“Oh, um, you have the same one,” Jon indicated the toothbrush at the sink and Martin followed his gaze. “How are we going to keep them apart?”

“Ah, that’s– that’s right. Hold on.”

Martin hurried to get a black pen and returned, holding out his hand, waiting for Jon to give him the toothbrush. Jon looked at him with curiosity but handed it to him wordlessly. Martin took his time writing Jon’s name on the handle very carefully and – feeling soppy enough – he added a little heart at the end of it. Jon shook his head and chuckled as he returned it to him, and then took the pen from Martin, only to start writing on Martin’s toothbrush as well. Martin watched him as he also added something at the very end. It was a very small sun.

“Didn’t want to copy you,” he told him as he gave it back to him.

“You’re ado–“

“Don’t!” Jon interrupted him by holding one of his hands against his mouth. “Don’t say that again!”

Martin kissed the palm of his hand instead of objecting.

\---

There was a strangely charged atmosphere settling over them once they had both brushed their teeth. Anticipation and uncertainty mixed and mingled until Martin could no longer tell which was affecting him more. He was shuffling his feet, wanting to say so much and yet not saying anything. It was something of a relief to busy himself with preparing the bed for Jon, putting a cover on another pillow. They’d have to share the duvet, though.

Once he was done, he looked at the bed with his hands against his hips, judging it carefully. Jon had left the room to grab his glass of water and was now reappearing by his side, joining him in looking at the bed in front of them.

“Which side do you prefer?” Martin asked, not looking at Jon, still.

“Oh. Ah, I wouldn’t mind sleeping closer to the door, if that’d be alright with you?”

“Sure,” Martin didn’t question it, just nodded. “Well, um, so… shall we?” he then said, bowing his head and stretching his arms out to show Jon that he could take precedence. Jon even gave a little curtsey, an image which Martin tried to burn into his mind immediately, before he moved past him to settle on one side of the bed. Martin switched on the light on the nightstand before turning off the ceiling lamp. It flooded the room with a much warmer and softer light, and Martin couldn’t help but notice how it changed the atmosphere, too. He took a deep breath and then joined Jon on the bed. Martin removed his glasses, putting them on the nightstand beside the bed and then lay back on the mattress, folding his hands on top of his belly. He was staying very still, unsure of what Jon would be okay with. Even though they had been sitting comfortably next to each other on the couch, there was quite a gap between them now. Somehow, this felt entirely different. Martin didn’t want to mess it up.

“Martin.”

“Hm? Oh, do you want me to turn off the light?”

“No, that’s– that’s not… You can, um, move closer. If you want. You– you don’t have to– ah, stay away.”

Martin rolled onto his side, looking at Jon who was looking back at him, a tentative smile on his handsome face which he decided to return, just as cautiously.

Things had been easier during the daylight when nothing but joy and excitement had been at the forefront, engulfing them so heavily that Martin just let himself be carried away by it. But now the night brought a certain quiet along with it, something that made his every action feel fraught with a deeper meaning. He didn’t want to do too much, too soon and scare Jon away. Afraid of overstepping and afraid of his own feelings, too. He had been alone for a long time. He yearned to take him into his arms and hold him close. He decided to be honest, at least partially.

“I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Is that it?” Jon was propping himself up on an elbow as he asked, already seeing behind his facade.

“Yes,” he responded, too quickly, perhaps, as Jon raised an eyebrow. “Well, I mean– it’s, it’s not just that. I– I’m not sure. It feels, um – I think, I think I just feel a bit, ah, overwhelmed right now? It’s – it’s a lot. Don’t get me wrong, I mean, I am enjoying every second of it, but I feel like – it’s all coming down on me right now and I’m – I’m... Ah, I’m sorry.”

Martin could hear his voice becoming shaky, could feel his throat closing up and he rolled back on his back, moving a hand to rest over his eyes. It helped to block out the light, to block out everything. Uncertainty and fear were suddenly so much louder than his excitement.

“You don’t have to feel sorry.”

He nodded at Jon’s words, but remained feeling entirely vulnerable there, next to him, no sound but that of their breathing filling the room. Jon was waiting for him to go on, and after he had breathed in and out several times, he was ready to.

“I just– I still can’t believe that– that this is happening, really? I mean… I haven’t… God, Jon, I mean I haven’t even shaken somebody’s _hand_ or anything like that in months, and now you’re here next to me, and– and I know that’s ridiculous, cause we’ve been– been kissing and everything and I’ve been _fine_ but somehow it just– it’s just… I don’t know.”

“Would a hug help or worsen the situation?”

Martin removed his hand, turning his head so he could look at Jon, searching his face for what his own words might be triggering in him. Jon was looking at him with such open fondness that he had to close his eyes again.

“I think that might help, actually. Yes.”

He could hear Jon move next to him, could feel the mattress give way until Jon was right there by his side. Soon enough, Jon was essentially wrapping himself around him, halting only to remove his own glasses quickly before his face found a place to rest on Martin’s chest. His arms found their way between Martin’s body and the mattress underneath them. The pressure of Jon’s body on top of his own was something he had longed to feel, and finally being able to experience it was almost too much for him to take. His chest was aching but not with sadness. He felt almost paralysed, overwhelmed once again by his emotions. _Comfort_. Was that what it was? Martin blinked a few times, aware of the tears in his eyes, willing them to go away.

“You know,” Jon was whispering now, “I feel quite overwhelmed as well. I’m– it’s, it’s been a while, since I had– since I’ve been close to someone like that.”

It was those words that washed over him in a wave of relief. He put his arms around Jon, breathing him in, squeezing him close. Jon felt almost delicate in his arms. A thing to cherish.

“I think I’m just not used to being so happy? I’m– I’m not sure I deserve that,” Martin’s words left his lips as soon as the thought had occurred to him and when he laughed right after, it broke into a sob. Jon responded by suddenly sitting up and straddling him so unexpectedly that Martin didn’t even have time to blush. Jon took his face into both of his hands and looked directly at him. It was quite intense.

“Martin. Listen to me. You deserve to be happy,” Martin wanted to interrupt but Jon beat him to it. “I want you to be. I– it makes me happy, to see you happy. And you, you _are_ deserving of– of– of this.”

Martin wondered whether Jon had wanted to say _of love_ but instantly felt ridiculous even thinking about it. They had kissed today, for the first time. He shouldn’t think about such a big thing as _love_ , just yet. Except that, while looking at him, he really had no other choice but to do just that.

“I mean, rationally, I know you’re right,” Martin sighed, admitting the truth, ignoring his thoughts that were repeatedly screaming _love love love_ at him. “It’s– ah, I guess I’m just being silly. I don’t want– I don’t want to ruin today by me being emotional.”

“You’re not,” Jon leaned in until their foreheads were touching. “ _You_ weren’t the one bringing up dead parents earlier, remember?” Jon’s voice was light as he spoke, back to banter. It helped Martin feel lighter, too.

“I mean, technically, I _was_. I did ask you about them,” he grinned back at him now and Jon rolled his eyes at him, but in a way that Martin almost had to describe as lovingly.

“Well,” Jon proceeded to snuggle back into him as he spoke, “Either way, I want you to know that you make me incredibly happy, too, Martin.”

Martin sighed, giggling a little, feeling more at ease now than before, even has his chest remained heavy with his emotions for Jon.

“That– I am– I’m glad.”

They were silent for some time until Martin decided to let his hands explore Jon’s back, to try and see what kind of touch he preferred. It was a way of giving back, of showing him that he wanted to please him. With his hands flat, he let them glide over the fabric of shirt, slowly but deliberately.

“Um, does that– does that feel good?”

Jon’s response wasn’t exactly anything close to resembling spoken words, instead he gave more of a satisfied hum, his face now closer to Martin’s chin and neck. His breath tickled a little as it hit his skin.

“Feels quite nice, actually… But you know, you don’t – you don’t have to,” Jon nudged Martin’s chin with his nose. “I, uh, I hope you don’t feel like you, ah, need to.”

“No,” Martin picked up on what he was implying. Maybe, a part of him felt like he owed it to him, but there were other reasons behind his actions, too. “I want to. I really do.”

Jon seemed content by that answer and let him continue. Martin smiled, and then bent his fingers, dragging his fingertips over Jon’s shoulder blades and down his spine, trying out different ways to show him his affection. Jon flinched and squirmed at that touch, so Martin stilled in his movement, going back to caressing him with a flat palm instead, which seemed to have more of a desired effect on him. He had yet to discover all the ways Jon liked to be touched. But he felt grateful for the fact that Jon felt comfortable enough to let him give it a try. He could feel him relax into him underneath his touch, could feel his breath slowing down and evening out. For the second time that night, Jon was starting to fall asleep on him. Before he was completely drifting off, Jon twitched, apparently still awake enough to crane his neck until he could whisper right into Martin’s ear.

“You’re so cosy, Martin. I–“ he gave a sigh, as his words were barely more than a mumble. “I like it here.”

And with that, Jon shifted his position once more, just slightly, and yawned before he continued to drift off into sleep. Martin pressed a kiss into his hair and turned off the light, trying not to move too much.

“Me too, Jon,” he whispered, his arms firmly wrapped around him, as he let the darkness help him find sleep as well.

\---

Jon’s silhouette was the first thing Martin saw once he woke up. He could tell that it was still early by the dim light filtering through the window blinds but at the same time knew that he would not be able to go back to sleep, as his heart was already beating way too hard in his chest, waking him up further with every passing second. _Jon_. Jon, who was lying next to him, still fast asleep. His face was turned towards him, so Martin had no choice, really, but to admire him shamelessly. His features appeared to be softer while he was sleeping. Undisturbed. Peaceful. It felt absolutely strange to see Jon like that, in _his own bed_ and in his clothes, too. He could look at him and nothing else, possibly forever.

One of the hardest things to do was break away from the view in front of him, but he really needed the bathroom, so he stood up as quietly as possible, tiptoeing out of the room. The memories of the day were starting to replay over in his head as he made his way through his flat. He thought about that moment last night before they fell asleep, of the unsettling honesty behind his own words. Part of him still believed him to be unworthy of his affection, of deserving less. But Jon wanted this, too. Wanted _him_ , in a way. He was barely awake and yet already blushing.

Once he was done and was washing his hands, his glance fell onto the toothbrushes right by the sink. Jon’s name in his handwriting, his own in Jon’s. A piece that belonged to Jon sitting right there in his home. It was like a hopeful glance into the future, a promise of his return. The sight of it did things to Martin he could not describe in words. He grinned, and then looked at himself in the mirror. The same Martin he was a day ago, and yet feeling completely different.

“I deserve this,” he told his reflection, almost defiant. Even if it would take some time, he would try to convince himself of those words, to believe their importance. He deserved this.

Martin decided to brush his teeth as he was already there before going back. He managed to slip back into his bedroom and under the duvet without waking Jon, an accomplishment he was quite proud of. He was just wondering about whether he would get away with caressing his face lightly as Jon stirred, then stretched and blinked several times, before he seemed to realise where he was. As soon as they looked at each other, Jon’s face lit up with the sweetest, sleepiest smile.

“Morning,” Martin said, quietly, trying not to disturb his process of waking up.

“Good morning, my dear,” Jon’s voice was hoarse, sleep leaving its marks, and he yawned, stretching himself, as if the term of endearment he had used was nothing worth mentioning, before he moved close enough to press his face into Martin’s chest. “What time is it?”

Martin was still processing what he had called him and was therefore absolutely unable to answer the question.

“Sorry, what?”

“The time? Left my phone in the living room.”

“Ah,” Martin felt for his own phone which he knew must be somewhere on bedside table. He checked the screen to find several messages by Tim and Sasha, ignored them all and looked at the time instead. “Just after seven.”

“Oh, too early, then,” Jon snuggled even further into Martin, causing him to giggle as response. It felt different once again as they lay there, in the early morning, sleep still present. Martin could feel Jon’s toes brush against his legs, could feel his much cooler skin where their arms were touching. There were still so many things he could choose to focus on, all of them astonishing him in new ways.

They continued to nestle up against each other until the sun had changed its position entirely, bathing them in the warm light of the new day. Getting up seemed absolutely inconsequential. Staying there until noon seemed much more reasonable, even as Martin’s stomach protested, rumbling at the absence of food.

“Hungry?” Jon mumbled against his neck, tickling him with his breath, making him giggle again.

“Food’s overrated. I’m pretty sure I can survive on this,” he indicated their intertwined bodies and could feel Jon nodding along. “But I guess– I guess I could make us some breakfast?”

“Let me help.”

They held hands on their way into the kitchen which was ridiculous and yet also absolutely necessary. Jon seemed to realise that he had yet to brush his teeth once he was already there, so Martin reassured him that he was fine preparing the tea by himself. Jon was back soon enough to help with the fried eggs, and once those were done, Jon asked for more ingredients. Martin complied, watching him work with ease as he created a pancake mix from scratch. Jon’s brows were furrowed in concentration as he put the batter into the pan and after a few minutes he tried to flip the first one. The first pancake flopped, but on his second try Jon was successful. Martin cheered, impressed by his skills and Jon turned to laugh at him so openly that Martin felt like kissing him, right there and then. He realised that he could, and so he did.

\---

Martin was entirely convinced that it was the best breakfast he had ever had. He also pretended that it had nothing to do with the fact that Jon’s feet were touching his own underneath the table or how their hands kept brushing against each other’s, sometimes accidentally, but most of the time on purpose. Jon cleared his throat and it took Martin back to their earlier Zoom-meetings, when things had been different. When Jon had been his boss and the person he was crushing on, but never in his mind somebody who could possibly return his feelings. To think back to that version of Jon and to compare it with the person sitting in front of him was like looking at two entirely different people. The early version of Jon he had got to meet through Zoom was always neat and reputable, but the one sitting in front of him looked utterly dishevelled, his hair sticking out in some places, unbrushed. Jon was also still wearing Martin’s clothes, apparently too comfortable in them to change back into his own. Martin didn’t mind. In fact, he was quite in favour of Jon wearing something that was too big on him and looking a bit untidy. And yet, the biggest difference wasn’t due to his outward appearance. It was his attitude, the way he held himself, the way he allowed himself to smile at every silly thing Martin was saying.

The way he looked at him with no hint of malice left.

He much preferred the version of Jon sitting in front of him to the one back in March. It was a joy to discover the gentler parts of him, behind the grumpy and reserved work persona he had started out as. He felt grateful for Jon to trust him enough to show him who he was.

“So, um, how did you sleep?” Martin tried his best to make it sound casual as he continued to take a sip of his tea.

“Best sleep I’ve had in years,” Jon replied, almost as if saying it to himself and then paused the fork he had been lifting to his mouth. Martin wasn’t sure but it seemed like he was embarrassed by his own words, perhaps spoken without thinking them through. It was a very pleasing thing to hear.

“G– Good! That’s – that is great,” Martin decided to smile into his cup of tea.

“Well, would you look at that smug smile,” Jon’s embarrassment turned into a grin so quickly, it took him by surprise.

“Oh? Don’t know what you could possibly mean.”

“No? You don’t think you have anything to do with it?” one of Jon’s feet was gliding along Martin’s left shin. It made him shiver.

“What, me?” Martin asked in mock surprise. “Impossible.”

“Well, I suppose it’s just that you have a very calming presence, that’s all.”

“I do?” Martin was still teasing him, but the question was in earnest.

“Oh, yes. Definitely. I mean, it’s– um, I must say, it depends on the situation. Sometimes, you, ah, _unleash_ quite the opposite, too. You can cause quite the internal turmoil, Martin.”

“Okay, now you’re just embarrassing me on purpose,” one more look at Jon made him take the offensive. “Also, you’re the one to talk. I mean, you, Jonathan Sims, in my home, wearing my clothes, sleeping in my bed. God, honestly, if someone had told me back in March that you’d be sitting here with me like that, I– I don’t know, I just would’ve never believed them,” he leaned back, looking up at the ceiling and then back at Jon, completely filled with affection and joy. “I just thought you were absolutely out of my league.”

“Martin!” Jon’s tone was indignant but fond.

“Well, it’s true!”

“That’s ludicrous. If anything, I should be out of yours,” Jon took another bite before shoving his empty plate away from him as he swallowed and then crossed his arms, looking right at Martin. “You’re wonderful.”

“Stop it.”

“Oh, I’m not going to,” it was a very affectionate threat and Martin couldn’t help but to smile in response. As they cleared up the table, Jon kept on stealing kisses from him, repeating the word _wonderful_ , every time he did so. It was getting quite distracting and after Martin almost dropped his favourite tea pot, he decided to lift Jon up and carry him over his shoulder, holding onto his legs so he wasn’t going to fall down. Jon was bursting into laughter, his protests a feeble attempt to convince Martin that he wasn’t actually enjoying it. Martin made sure to set him down carefully when they arrived back in his bedroom, ready to cuddle up again. Jon was reaching out for him as soon as he landed on the mattress and Martin gave in instantly, the taste of black tea still on their lips.

He knew, without a doubt, that he was in love with Jon.

In love with not just the parts of him he had first become infatuated with – his voice or his appearance. But in love with every little thing he was discovering, with the warmth he was carrying inside, now spilling out of him endlessly, with his peculiar knowledge of topics Martin had never given another thought to, with the softness of his hands when they touched him, with his wit that surprised and challenged Martin in ways he had not seen coming. With a million aspects that he was aware of, and another million more that he was probably not.

He wasn’t going to tell Jon, of course, at least not yet. Not today.

“Martin, your hugs and kisses are the best things I ever had the honour of receiving, and I shall ask for nothing but those for the remainder of the morning,” Jon’s words were a proposition, and the prospect of it was so lovely Martin couldn’t find a counterargument against it. He wrapped himself around Jon with pleasure, clinging to him with such a need, it felt essential for survival all of a sudden. Jon returned the embrace just as forcefully, sighing with such content that it made Martin’s heart feel even fuller.

He wasn’t going to tell him. At least not for another hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is DONE!! Whew! This is officially the longest thing I have ever written, like, ever (let alone in English, which is not my native language). Including almost 60k words, a bit more than 120 pages on Word, some tears, a lot of sweat and just a teeny tiny little bit of blood. 
> 
> Thank you SO, so much to all of you who interacted, left kudos or a like on tumblr and especially to those who commented, your feedback always gave me such joy and made me squeal, giggle, blush and sometimes even cry <3
> 
> The biggest thank you goes to [Anna](https://annbun.tumblr.com) for being the literal best, always ready to read whatever I came up with and being THE BEST enabler possible <3
> 
> And I want to thank [Siarven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siarven/pseuds/Siarven) and [Soren](https://papershield-art.tumblr.com) for letting me be vague whenever I wanted to and helping me out, always <3 also for live-blogging their reading-experience to me, which has been such a pleasure ;w;
> 
> This was such a fun project for me!! I don’t think I’ll be able to write anything of this caliber any time soon, but you might find one or two drabbles in the future. [Here’s my tumblr](https://imbekkable.tumblr.com), pls come say hello if you want to, I’d love to chat more about these two, or tma in general!
> 
> To all of you: I really hope this fic brought you a bit of joy ♡ thank you so, so much for reading!


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